


Her Voice Presides

by ladyptarmigan



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Retelling/Canon Adjacent Fic, Communication Difficulties, Cultural and Personal Differences, Eventual Smut, F/F, First half is Janai POV, Oral Sex, Second half is Amaya POV, Sex in the Really Nice Royal Baths, but also being same same same on a level that makes your soul light up, janaya - Freeform, romantic letter writing, slight slow burn, then branches off in its own direction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyptarmigan/pseuds/ladyptarmigan
Summary: When a warrior is bested, they choose between two lessons: resentment, or improvement.Janai is woman enough to learn from her defeats, even those by a human, and as she escorts her compelling prisoner to Lux Aurea answers are her first priority. The last thing she expects is for those answers to end with her ruling as the most renowned, precedent shattering Sunfire Queen in thousands of years; lauded and criticized, analyzed by scholars, emulated, honored, despised, but never, in all the history of Xadia, to be forgotten.General Amaya isn’t surprised in the slightest — that Janai would be a Queen out of legend, anyway. She had no idea they would do it together.
Relationships: Amaya/Janai (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 128
Kudos: 504
Collections: the only way to stop this is to look evil in the face and say no more





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dang why am I starting another fic when I just finished the last one??? Thank you hyperfixations, thank you TOO GOOD season 3 of TDP. Also, writing a character who is deaf is super super hard I researched quite a bit and then did what we call in academia, MY BEST, OKAY???? This was originally supposed to be a one shot from Janai's POV, with no dialogue at all. Sort of an 'actions are the meat of love' thing. Well that... didn't happen. What did happen is fun, I think, I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have!!!!

* * *

  
A flick of her wrist splays the trigger on the ground at her feet. The explosives, the hidden fortress, the whole wretched trap of it is a weapon she is glad to turn and use against the enemies of her people. An invasion of Xadia will begin only after the last drop of her blood has spilled into the hard, cracked earth of the breach.

Her hand tightens on her sword as she watches the human soldiers draw their weapons as they notice her presence. They don’t move, though.

Anticipation lights her blood aflame as she realizes she has gotten just what she wants — not more than victory, but more than almost anything else.

A rematch.

The shield wielding general, the human with the short dark hair and clever eyes, will be the one to meet her. She has mounted a horse, and rides at breakneck speed down the pass.

Her arm cocks, muscles ready to spring forward, waiting for the chance to prove, at last, who is the greater warrior. This enemy will not slip through her fingers again. She is prepared this time, not to be defeated by unexpected tricks or dexterous maneuvering. There will be no interference, nothing except one fighter against another.

The beat of hooves is the drumbeat of her own heart, louder, louder, until she darts forward into a long arcing slash, only to see the horse pass over her shoulder, a reckless daring leap that leaves both horse and rider skittering across the uneven, rocky pathway.

What was the woman thinking? She scowls inwardly. Despite herself, she feels a shadow of doubt creep in. The tall soldier has a way of making her feel outmatched, a step behind in some way she can’t quite articulate.

Nothing but an illusion, a trace of battlefield fear, she’s certain.

The human scrabbles for a torch uselessly, before standing and drawing her sword. What a torch could be necessary for when standing next to a river of lava, she cannot imagine. But nothing can sully this; at last, the moment she has waited for. Whatever plan she had has failed and now it’s down to just the two of them.This time, she will prove herself the superior swordswoman.

She strikes fast and early, her blows going wide and then glancing off the edge of the tower shield. Staying on the offensive, she presses in with another fierce swipe. But rather than take the blow against the shield, her opponent meets it uselessly with her sword, allowing it to be shorn in half. She’s bringing her sword up to block the projectile she expects when the shield bashes into her chestplate, shoving her backwards.

Breathing slow, she settles back into stance as the human crashes into her. She expects another shield strike and has just barely tilted in as a fist makes contact with her jaw. The thud of impact and dizziness drop her back, she can tell she has fallen a step behind. A hand at her wrist pulls her in before she has the chance to get her bearings.

A moment later the world is spinning as she is disarmed and flung to the ground.

She grits her teeth. She refuses to lose, not again, not like this.

She should have taken this more seriously, used all of her strength from the beginning. What does the concept of fighting with honor mean when your opponent is human, anyway? Before the might of the Sunfire, a human is _nothing_.

She lets molten gold heat run through her veins as magical strength floods in. As she stands, she decides she will end this here and now.

She feels a twinge of suspicion as the horse runs past her, but she is too slow again. She realizes the human’s plan a moment too late: her own sword, glowing with heat, embedded in the barrel of an explosive.

There is not even time to brace herself before the world explodes into ringing noise and fire.  
  


* * *

  
By luck, she manages to catch the edge of the cliff as she goes over. Her grip is secure, but the angle of the rock is against her, and the world still spins in time with her pounding head. She pulls up, scrabbling for the edge with her other hand, but slips down again with a groan. When she sees the sharp, lean frame appear above her, standing unharmed at the top of the cliff, she stops breathing.

It’s over. After all these years of struggle, she will fail in her duty. She will fail her sister. Her country.

Her fingers ache where they cling to the sheer cliff face, almost twinging in anticipation of an armored boot grinding down. She refuses to beg. She will die proudly.

The moment hangs suspended as the woman looks down, a strange look in her pointed, intelligent gaze. Steam and thermal updraft toy with the hair that hangs in her face, the rest curly with damp and plastered to her neck.

She lets her shield clatter to the ground.

Janai breathes again at the feeling of strong hands clasped around her forearm, pulling her up over the edge and to safety. Their eyes meet, and she understands the woman in front of her all at once: a warrior, a leader who has succeeded in her mission; one who has protected her people, at the price of her own safety.

An honorable woman, who sees no use in wasting life now that the battle is done and her goals have been accomplished.

Her own troops come up the path, and she finds her instincts confirmed when the woman surrenders without contest.

Making her a prisoner will be her only prize in this failure of a battle. The destruction of the breach serves her own ends as well, technically she has succeeded, but both facts are cold consolation for the shame that burns in her as they tie the general’s hands behind her back. The thought of marching her back to Lux Aurea for interrogation, of imprisoning this proud woman, grates badly.

The human is trapped on the Xadian side of the border. If it were possible to return her, she might have done it. A return of the mercy she was shown.

There is nothing for it. She can argue for clemency when they return to her sister, perhaps a way can be found to send her back to her own people.

Until then, she will put her in chains.  
  


* * *

  
She has grown suspicious of the general’s silence. Maybe not suspicious, in the sense of suspecting something untoward — her awareness of the lack has sharpened, enough so that she feels something underneath it.

It makes sense, that her enemy would not wish to converse. She is certain the high ranking warrior will refuse to disclose anything useful, when the time comes. But her silence is absolute. She has never shouted a battlefield quip, or let out a holler of exertion. She has made no comment about her new state of captivity, or asked where she will be taken.

It isn’t as if she herself has done anything to change that. Her own discomfort has left her uncertain what she wishes to say. There are no honest reassurances she can give, the decision on the general’s fate will belong mostly to her sister. But some part of her wishes for better, despite their circumstances.

She wishes, at least, to know the woman’s name.

“Halt,” she calls out, raising a hand.

In front of her, the formation of soldiers stops at once. In the center of a circle of troops, the general takes another staggering step forward before halting like the others. Her instincts twinge again. There is no way she could have missed the command. Token resistance? Or something more?

“We are halfway to Lux Aurea. Let us take a short break to provision ourselves before continuing, the prisoner included. Fifteen minutes,” she barks out, short and efficient.

Then she strides forward into the circle of soldiers containing the general. The woman watches her curiously as she approaches, eyes honing in on some succession of small details before flitting to their next target in a pattern she cannot discern. The level of scrutiny is a lively, tangible thing that makes her feel almost bashful. It is as if every moment they interact, she is giving something about herself away, exposing facets of herself piece by piece.

“Nothing to say, prisoner?” she asks at last, with her arms crossed in front of her.

The strange, amused grin that overcomes the woman at the question is beyond her comprehension. Her shoulders shake a little, as if in laughter, before she motions towards herself with a shoulder as best she can with her arms bound behind her.

She sighs, outwardly exasperated. Something inside her is whirling though, digging for an answer to a question she isn’t sure the nature of. “I will get very sick of referring to you as ‘human prisoner’ if you won’t at least tell us your name.”

Something in the other woman perks up at that, her smile going a little more genuine before she half turns away, so that her hands are facing out. Constrained by metal bindings, her fingers nonetheless move through a series of quick, short motions. Her fist stays clenched, mostly, but the small differences are clearly meant to communicate something.

It means nothing to her. She looks around, frustrated, in case one of the soldiers has any kind of idea what that was.

No response comes, the soldiers just look back and forth between them.

“Well? Any thoughts?”

She gets nothing but blank expressions, except for a single tall elf who shuffles forward nervously. “I’ve heard of it. Fingerspeaking? Or something? A boy from my village couldn’t talk, a teacher came to instruct him so he could communicate. I never knew the family, though, never saw it done.”

 _Couldn’t_ talk? She wanted to ask more questions, but knew her curiosity would be too transparent. Not with all the troops standing around watching her. She would have to ask someone from the university when they were back in Lux Aurea.

She nodded instead. “Get her some water, and we’ll continue our march.”

It would have to wait.  
  


* * *

  
She didn’t even have the energy to be disappointed when her sister was too busy for an audience. She fell asleep scant moment after returning to her chambers, aching and exhausted. She had directed her soldiers to bring the prisoner to the dungeon reserved for the most dangerous or political sensitive individuals, notified the steward of her return, and fallen into bed.

She woke late the next morning, significantly recovered. After inhaling breakfast, she set out to arrange for what she needed.

The stewart, Enofe, did not prove difficult to find.

“Golden Knight,” the man bows politely.

She is almost ashamed at the burst of pleasure hearing her real title gives her. It took ages to get the older staff to stop calling her ‘princess’.

“I have several matters to discuss with my sister. Do you know when she will be available?” It galls her to ask, again, for a _meeting_ , in order to speak with her own sister. She knows the Queen is busy, but still; to make her feel like just another petitioner?

“She has asked me to convey that she will be available two ticks before the noonday meal,” he says with another incline of his head.

She huffs, but nods. “On another matter. Have the university send a language specialist to me. One with knowledge of some sort of finger based communication system.”

“It will be done.”

“Thank you, Enofe,” she finishes, absentminded, before turning away.

This is only the beginning of her duties for this day. She needs a new sword, for one, and a bath for another.  
  


* * *

  
“Welcome to Lux Aurea, human,” she says, injecting as much menace into her tone as she can as she lets her transformation drain away. She hopes the effect is properly dramatic.

The nervous scholar from the university staggers in behind her after almost singeing themselves with the circle flame. She hopes they can cut it. Being around the royal family makes many people behave strangely, this Kazi may come out of it when given a professional duty to focus on.

 _Sign language_ , she thinks to herself. What an odd means of communication. She wonders why such a thing was necessary. It may not matter, if the Queen is not inclined to mercy.

“I’m going to uncuff you now, so you can speak,” she says as she circles around the kneeling general. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

As she paces back towards Kazi, she considers her questions.

That narrow pathway was obviously the route the human kingdoms used to cause such destruction and chaos over the past few years. And a potential invasion route, if necessary. The outpost they left on the Xadian side as much as confirmed it. If they destroyed it, it was because they themselves expected an attack.

 _Foolish humans._ As if she would waste elven lives on an invasion of Katolis.

Still, a confirmation would be beneficial. “What were your human soldiers doing on the Xadian side of the border? What are the humans planning?”

Behind her, Kazi whirls through a complex assortment of hand signs. It is like military signalling, used when silence is necessary, extrapolated into an entire language. All of it far more complex than she had expected.

In front of her, the General frowns and looks away. Sweat drips down her forehead, and her tunic is already damp. The heat radiating from the flames of the prison has not made for a comfortable stay, clearly. The woman is obviously going to refuse to answer, once again.

“I’m losing my patience,” she says with a huff, stalking forward. “Say something!” It isn’t like the answer isn’t obvious. She hasn’t gone to all this trouble to speak with the woman to get silence in reply _again_.

The General takes the cue, beginning some kind of statement as her hands flash through a series of rapid motions. The smirk on her face and the jerky, shoving motion she finishes with do not give her a good feeling about the translation of this particular commentary.

Kazi’s interpretation confirms her suspicions.

_Shove her sword up her…? Really?_

Humans truly were beyond the pale. Unseemly, short sighted, loathsome creatures; even the ones with some understanding of honor, apparently.  
  


* * *

  
“If she’s not useful, get rid of her.” Khessa waves a hand dismissively, from her throne. “She’s useless.”

_Useless?_

Shock and shame skitters through her like a flat rock on a pond. Her sister seems to have forgotten that she is speaking about a _person_. This is not a battlefield, where taking life is necessary for the protection of others. There is no need to dispose of the inconvenient, like they were blighted wheat. The callousness of it grates at her, even as her feelings make her feel foolish and disloyal.

“She’s not worthless,” a little outrage creeps into her tone against her will; her sister has always poked fun at her lack of control. “This may be a human, but she fought bravely. And she treated me, her enemy, with warrior’s honor. Should we not do the same?”

“Oh my sweet little sister,” she says, a jibe bordering on mockery. “If you truly believe this one is so special, we’ll let the Light decide her fate.”

That will be the end of it, then.

Grief is eating away at her. To be called that, sweet little sister, spoken with disdain? There was a time when those words had been full of affection, when Khessa would have sat with her and asked her how she was, and they would complain and laugh together about the burdens of their positions.

She wants those days again so fiercely it takes her breath away. She wants to be able to tell her sister of her struggles at the border, and the curious human general who stood against her so well. Just to talk about it, to admit the curious way she feels, at having discovered a true equal on the battlefield in a strange, silent human. Another woman, her match as a tactician and swordsman, with a lean, muscular frame and a strong jaw.

Her sister has forgotten how to listen, sitting on that throne. She is a righteous Queen, and a good one, but she misses the family they used to be a part of. So little is left of it, now.

The complaint is an ironic one, she realizes a moment later. She herself hasn’t thought to explain what is happening. The human does not understand. On the ground she flinches away, shoulders tense, and her eyes are closed. Of course, she would not know their traditions or the details of their rituals. She is just as poor a listener as her sister.

“No, you have to look,” she explains quickly.

When that gets no response, she kneels next to the woman. She takes her shoulders in her hands.

“You have to look,” she repeats, when their eyes meet. “If you want to live, you have to look into the light!”

She steps back, and the blazing corona of light gets so bright even she must squint against it. A moment later, it is over.

The human pitches forward, panting, but whole. The priest nods.

Janai feels something flood her chest, something relieved and warm and self satisfied. Her anxiety had not been rooted in what conclusion they would find, she discovers; it was in what the future might bring and what her sister will think of it, after all. She was not wrong. She is more than capable of recognizing a spirit so like her own.

“Hmm. A human with a pure heart. How original.”  
  


* * *

  
She takes her back to the dungeon. More for lack of a better place to go than anything else. She had thought for a moment to take her somewhere quiet in the palace, to sit and eat a meal, at least. But there is nowhere to go where their appearance will not cause a commotion, except for her own chambers, which would of course be a full scale scandal.

Their progress down the stairs is slow, step by shuffling step, the human’s shoulders are tense and drawn.

“Almost there,” she says, trying to be encouraging. She frowns when no response is forthcoming, not even a head tilted in her direction.

“Ah,” Kazi starts, then stops, fidgeting nervously.

“What?” she asks, sharp and holding back exasperation.

“Well, of course, since the light just... she can’t see.”

“Obviously,” she says, going down another step.

“She won’t be able to understand you, without her eyesight,” Kazi says, as if this statement should be explanatory by itself.

“What?” she asks again, annoyed at repeating herself. “But what does that…?”

Kazi stops. “She’s deaf, your grace.”

Her shock prevents her from eviscerating the scholar for daring to use the honorifics she despises.

She knew… well, that the human couldn't talk. But she hadn’t put it together like that, no one had told her… it made sense. How could one learn to speak if they couldn’t hear their own voice, and cannot hear others? There would be no way to learn. She feels foolish for not seeing it, but relieved to at last be given a cohesive explanation.

That doesn’t mean her pride isn’t stung.

“She understands when people speak to her! How was I to know?” The words are defensive, aggressive in a way she regrets as Kazi’s head snaps back as if reprimanded.

“My apologies, Golden Knight.”

“No, no. I should have asked. Explain, please,” she asks, in her best conciliatory tone. She takes another step down, guiding the human as gently as she can.

“She lip reads. She watches people’s faces for the differences in lip and tongue movement that create different syllables, then figures out what words are being said. It is rare to find someone so skilled, it’s known to be extraordinarily difficult.”

“Since many words are similar,” she nods, glad to be following at last.

“Yes. Several groups of sounds look identical, for instance m, p, and b, are all made by bringing the lips together. That isn’t even considering sounds formed in the back of the throat, which of course…” Kazi seems to realize this topic is a bit too far into linguistics given the audience, and dials back smoothly. “Let us say, a great deal must be guessed from context, body language, and observation. Of course, I’ve only read about it. There are many questions I’d like to ask her, once she’s recovered. It’s really quite fascinating.”

They reach the bottom of the stairs, and she opens a hole in the flame circle and carefully sidles through. She uncuffs the human brusquely, tossing the metal circlets outside the boundary of the flame with a rough lob.

“I will notify the guards to leave her uncuffed,” she nods to Kazi.

The human (spirits, she wishes to learn the woman’s name already) sits carefully, looking a little crumpled and uncertain. For someone who has shown no hint of fear since her capture, her appearance speaks volumes. Janai finds herself moved to sympathy. She must rely terribly on her eyesight.

“Can you think of a way to explain, how the effect of exposure to the Light is temporary?”

Kazi’s brows draw together in concentration. “I’m not sure.”

“Not even if the message were very simple?”

“Well. You might use her own hands to sign, but that…” Kazi trails off, already turning red at offering a suggestion of such staggering impropriety.

Janai crosses her arms and hopes another answer is forthcoming. It isn’t. Well, holding hands with the foreign general will be a strange and embarrassing new low. But she can hardly just walk away, when it’s her own fault for not explaining earlier. She cannot leave her alone in the dark, not knowing. The cruelty of it would be staggering.

And she cannot ask Kazi to do it. They look ready to pass out from nerves already, without outrageously gauche physical contact with a human. Even one who is wearing gloves.

She will have to do it. “Very well. Demonstrate the signs to me, something short and simple.”

She ignores Kazi’s flabbergasted expression to kneel carefully next to the woman, reaching over to clasp her forearm gently with one hand. Her eyes are still red, but she looks up, face drawn and pale. Janai feels an answering pang of hurt in her own chest at the sight of her.

She waits for Kazi to finish fumbling, and waits for instruction. Eventually they come around, eyes narrowing with focus.

“Something simple. Hm. How long does the blurred vision last, normally?”

“If you’ve never been exposed? Perhaps two hours, three at worst.”

Kazi moves slowly through a few signs, none overly complex looking. A fist with two fingers sticking out against the opposite palm, making a circle. Pointing to an eye, an obvious one. Fingers held in a circle, followed by two fingers pointed up with the palm out.

“Alright,” she says, trying to firm her own resolve. Her heart has begun to beat a little fast. She had thought she was above the worst of her people’s nonsensical obsession with propriety. “Guide me through them, slowly.”

She slides her right hand down from where it clasps the general’s forearm until she is holding that hand in her own. Her left reaches across her own body to fold over the other, her fingers barely long enough to wrap fully around the warm palm. She tries to ignore the heat of it, of the way her own calloused fingertips feel against the leather gloves, the way her heartbeat is drumming at the inside of her wrists.

At first the human tenses, surprised and confused, whirling to look at the elf kneeling next to her despite the uselessness of the gesture. Janai squeezes her hands just once, before trying to manipulating the fingers into careful shapes. At first the general is not relaxed enough, stiffness making the forms impossible. But after a moment, she seems to realize what Janai is trying to do.

Her hands go limp. Janai pulls her left hand into a fist with two fingers sticking out, then guides them in a round motion against the other palm.

_"2 hours."_

The sign must be recognizable, because the woman’s chin comes up and her head tilts to the side.

She watches Kazi until she understands what is required next. It only takes a moment, at least this one is simpler. The angle is too awkward to lift with her right, so she uses the left hand to point to the human’s own eye. Then she moves the hand back down, pulling gently until the fingers make a circle. Next comes the palm out, fingers up gesture.

_"Eyes ok."_

The woman nods at Janai, a hint of a grateful smile on her lips, as she sighs and tips her head forward in relief. The angle makes her dark hair flop down, tangling in front of her eyes.

Janai pulls her hands away like they’ve been burned. She can feel that her face is painted with a dramatic blush. She stands stiffly.

The Golden Knight of Lux Aurea runs from nothing. But it might be said, if a soul was particularly daring, that she left very quickly.  
  


* * *

  
Her embarrassment tapers off before long. She eats lunch, writes some reports she’s fallen behind on. She stands around, feeling extraneous and cut off and useless.

She knows wanting to go visit the human again is far too revealing, but it would be nice to check that she has recovered. And she’s bored. There is more to occupy her in the field. She can’t even spar, the soldiers so close to the palace will not fight her with their true strength. They don’t know her well enough, can’t help but be afraid of the insult if they were to strike her.

Well, let them gossip. Their faults are not her own, she decides with a jolt of purpose. She will at least see the human long enough to get her name. She can bring dinner, while she’s at it.

She grabs a travel waterskien, asks for Kazi to be sent to her, and goes down to the kitchens.

She leans through the doorway into the pantry, which leads on into the kitchens. A harried chef startles at the sight of her before scurrying over.

“How can we serve?” he asks, with more firmness than she expected.

“I’ll take an early dinner. Thank you.”

The man sighs a little. They find her field borne practicality a little trying. “You will have to take injera leftover from lunch, Golden Knight.”

“That’s no problem,” she says with a nod.

A minute later, a plate loaded with sauce laden beans and delicate, spongy flatbread is handed to her with a little bow.

She starts down the hall, nearly out of the palace before being intercepted by Kazi.

Kazi gives a jaunty little bow, looking a bit less nervous. Perhaps the effect of being around royalty has begun to wear off. Or perhaps she has just behaved in so undignified a fashion she is no longer intimidating. She wishes she could be offended by either possibility.

“Golden Knight,” Kazi says. “You wish to go check on the prisoner, I assume?”

“I see I’ve become transparent very quickly,” she says with a wry smile.

“No, no, of course not…” the sentence is cut off before ending in an instinctual ‘your grace’ can escape, which she appreciates.

She stops walking, looking back at the scholar from the corner of her eye. “I’m sure it must seem curious to you.”

“I would not presume to, well, I assume she has important information, or was part of a plan, or something of that nature. Nothing that’s any of my concern,” Kazi finishes, wringing their hands a bit.

She laughs. She can’t help it. That would have been a better excuse, if she at least had an objective in mind. The desire to be honest pricks at her. It would be nice to talk about it, at least with one person— not the whole truth, but maybe a piece of it.

She smiles wryly. “No. I captured her only due to geography. She was caught out on the Xadian side of the border after outmatching me in combat, achieving her military goals, and sparing my life.”

Kazi freezes in place, shock worn plain on thin, delicate features.

She has to laugh about it, at what can only be one of life’s cruel jokes.

“My _prisoner_.”  
  


* * *

  
She has to open a passage through the wall of flames to get the plate through without burning it, she realizes. She almost shifted before she caught herself. Well, it isn’t like she needs the added drama anymore, extra repetitions will just seem desperate.

She ducks down to fit through the hole, Kazi following close behind.

“I brought dinner this time,” she announces, seeing the other woman perk up at the sight of the pair of them.

Brown eyes meet brown; she can feel herself being looked over even as she does the same. The color has come back to her face, her posture is lanky and relaxed. Back to normal, as near as she can tell. She leans down to pass the plate, and pull the waterskin off her belt to drop it on the ground near their feet.

The woman takes it with an appreciative grin, before looking at the food curiously. She signs something one handed to Kazi.

“How do you eat it?” Kazi interprets. After a pause to think, they answer as they sign. “We don’t use utensils, mostly. Roll the sauce up in the bread.” Her hands move quickly as she speaks.

She takes no time in tearing off a piece of injera and scooping up the beans and sauce, dropping it in her mouth with a relieved sigh. They feed prisoners, but nothing more than a minimal supply of boiled grains, she expects.

Her eyes go wide as she chews. She smiles, and moves a hand up to waggle in front of her mouth.

“Spicy,” Kazi says with a laugh.

“I suppose it would be, compared to human food.” She hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked the kitchen for what they would normally serve her.

“Good, though,” Kazi interprets her signs again before the woman takes another large bite.

The rest of the plate is demolished in minutes. She takes it as she stands; hopefully no one will suspect where ‘her’ dinner has gone to if they return quickly.

Before she turns to go, she asks the question that has most been on her mind.

“Your name. What’s your name?”

Her eyes go surprised, eyebrows raising dramatically, before a laughing smile comes to her face. The woman is so expressive, Janai cannot help but find it almost shocking. It makes sense, of course she would be, but it feels like an indulgence just to watch her. She is used to people who are so controlled; to see the feelings of another so plainly is revelatory. She finds herself smiling back.

Eyes not moving from her face, the woman’s hand fists again, moving through a short set of what must be letters.

“Amaya.” Kazi turns to her, adjusting their glasses, looking a little hesitant to interrupt such a weighty moment. “Her name is Amaya.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, General Amaya.” Her voice comes out a little too soft, almost choked around the edges. If only she could go through a single meeting without embarrassing herself.

Amaya flattens her palms and rubs them against one another, then raising both pointers and brings them together quickly.

“Nice to meet you,” Kazi fills in.

She shakes her head, breath leaving her in a rush as her shoulders shake. She doesn’t need to look up to know that now they are both laughing.  
  


* * *

  
The next day, they wind up discussing swordsmanship.

It’s one of the topics she is most curious about. General Amaya dealt her three successive defeats.There aren’t many in all Lux Aurea who can boast the same, not in the years since she finished training and became known as the Golden Knight. She wants nothing better than to know how it was done.

In the middle of a rather dry, mostly signed, discussion between Amaya and Kazi about the differences between Katolian and Xadian forms of sign language, she makes an off hand comment about it while stretching her legs.

“It seem like such a waste, keeping you cooped up in here when we could be sparring,” she is pacing a little, feeling constrained by the palace and antsy from physical inactivity. “Next time our swords cross I will beat you, General.”

Amaya’s gaze latches onto her like a dagger, sharp and sure. She grins, hard edged, and Janai knows she would like nothing better. Her fist comes up underneath her chin and flicks out, then her hands flatten out and shuffle one over the other.

“Not next time.” Kazi looks to her, looking just a twinge worried.

“And why would that be?” she asks, drawling playfully.

Her hands flicker again, quicker, through a more complex sentence. Her eyebrows slope dramatically, the contrast between her dark hair and pale skin making her smirk even more fierce.

“Not fast enough, I read too far ahead?” Kazi trails off with uncertainty.

The language must be too idiosyncratic, too related to swordfighting — a topic on which she suspects Kazi is wholly ignorant.

Amaya frowns, then tries a different explanation. She goes more slowly, this time.

“The same way I watch your lips, to read what you say. I watch your body, to see how you strike.”

Her own arms, crossed in front of her, tighten until they dig into her armor. Janai is frozen with a peculiar sort of awe.

_Of course._

She sees the truth at once. The dark haired general’s roaming, clever eyes. How she felt outmatched, a step behind more and more as the fight drew out. Of course a woman who can guess the words you are speaking from the minute movements of your lips and tongue must have no trouble at all seeing the slightest tensing of a shoulder or thigh. Every miniscule adjustment of her stance gives her away.

Such a thing is miraculous, beyond anything she could have guessed. It’s insanely inventive, brilliantly adaptive, to take utilizing small details to such a heightened level, especially in the middle of combat. She had wondered how someone who couldn’t hear could survive a battlefield, where a small noise might make the difference between detecting an ambush or responding to a command in time.

Amaya has learned how to be a step ahead of everything.  
  


* * *

  
While returning to the palace, she stops Kazi before they part ways.

She is still thinking about it: Amaya’s swordsmanship, and attention. The idea of attention. How such a difference is produced merely through an application of focus.

She has never had to do it, she realizes. She has never had to pay such close attention, not to anything in her life; only the flames of battle stoked to their most desperate heights have ever commanded her complete and total focus. She wonders what it would be like to live that way every day, to apply that level of intensity to every action, every person. She would be exhausted within two hours.

She has been careless, she recognizes at once. The difference between her and her sister is one of degree, not of kind. Everyone around her caters to her, because of her status, her bloodline. If she allows it, they become invisible; just nameless figures without depth or history. It is more than a moral wrong. General Amaya used it to stymie her plans and defeat her time after time. A way over the border existed for years, undetected. The Dragon King is dead, and they still don’t fully understand how it came to pass.

Something must change.

She turns.

“Kazi. So, you are a linguist?”

“Well, yes,” Kazi responds, jerking back a little in surprise. “Technically, I’m a specialist in Xadian languages, but my focus was so broad it wound up encompassing a great deal of…” the sentence cuts off with a swallowed, anxious air.

Janai lets the silence hang, as Kazi evaluates whether to continue on with what has become a bit of a rambling sentence.

“The more I learned, the more things I found out about that sounded interesting,” Kazi continues, delivery more even. “I kept taking classes, until I’d covered even the most obscure topics and was long overdue to have graduated.”

“And you have always loved languages?” she asks. Her eyes are narrowed, she is still searching for something but isn’t sure quite what.

“Oh yes,” Kazi says, earnest and far more comfortable. “My magecraft is atrocious, and I’m a terrible fighter. As I’m sure you’d expect. But I still wanted to do something that would help… would help the world. And it seems to me that so much might be solved if we were just better at _talking_. So this was what I could do, what I’m good at.”

_This was what I could do._

She turns the statement over in her head, a little touched despite herself. There is merit in it. There is something to be said for choosing something you can do, and doing it to the utmost.

“I see,” she says, looking intently at Kazi, letting it be true.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count is tentative, there might be an epilogue not sure yet. This is the second half of Janai's POV, hope y'all are ready for some more fun times with elves!!!! This also gets us caught up with canon, which heck yes. Hope everyone had a nice holiday/weekend!

* * *

  
  
The next day brings a complication she does not expect.

“Bad news, my human friend,” she says as she steps through the flames. “Your king came seeking passage.”

The news has left her feeling unsettled, and hopefully not just because she had hoped to use the opportunity to negotiate for Amaya’s release. She only hopes the general will not be too offended that Lux Aurea will soon purge her apparent monarch from existence.

“What? That’s impossible.”

Why would it be impossible? Well, it wouldn’t matter soon enough.

“The light revealed his true nature. Tainted with darkness, rotten to the core,” she scoffs, looking off to the side. That wretch was much more in line with the image she had of humans. “Such an arrogant man.”

Amaya stands with alarm, striding forward fast enough Kazi has to follow to keep sight of what she is signing. Her dark, tousled hair bounces as her head shakes from side to side, the lean strength of her shoulders apparent as her hands move, fluid, from one form to the next.

“That man is no king.” Even Kazi has begun to sound concerned. “He may be the most dangerous human in the world.”

She shakes herself. If it is true, then all the better he be taken care of here and now.

“No matter. The Queen has sentenced him to be purified. After the ritual I doubt there will be anything left of him,” she says with a shrug as she turns to leave.

Her job here is done, and she will have duties to attend to after the ritual. She is just glad Amaya was not upset.

So she is doubly surprised to feel the woman reach out and grab her. Very, very few people would have the audacity for such a thing, and she is whirling around offended before she can help it. Her mouth is opening for a brusque rebuke, in fact, when the desperate look on Amaya’s face registers.

“You don’t understand. If he’s here, everyone is in danger. We have to stop him!”

She freezes. Her mind races through frantic calculation as the unnerved feeling returns in triplicate. She knows Amaya well enough by now to know that she would not play tricks for her freedom. If someone is a danger in this, it’s this Viren. Not even one day ago, she resolved to pay better attention.

Better to worry unnecessarily than miss a true threat.

She nods, then steps out of the flames. Palm flat against the pillar, she lets her energy flow into the mechanism until it triggers, and the wall of flames falls completely.

“Come on,” she says. “We’ll grab your armor on the way.”  
  


* * *

  
When Amaya starts to sprint she runs after her, but part of her already knows they are too slow.

The sunforge is lit, channeling energy down to the dais; they are still on the ground.

To ascend all the way to the ceremonial platform is the work of nearly a half hour. Even if one could sprint the entire way, in full armor, that would only halve the time. The ritual will be complete by then.

Despite her misgivings, she does not truly expect something to go wrong.

When reddish, inky corruption spreads over the face of the sunforge her heart stops in her chest. It is as if full daylight has been snuffed out, and the sky has been coated in a pitch dark film. Rather than radiating light, the forge is putting out darkness instead.

It is vile and unnatural. And her sister is trapped up there with it.

When she sees the two figures at the edge of the platform, she knows she has failed. She can see the transparent, glowing stain of an elf, snuffing her sister’s life out like a candle. Her sister, her Queen, falling, gone, and she can do nothing, _nothing_.

Her world dissolves into rage and pain; the fire in her veins is turning everything to scorched earth.

She doesn’t even notice at first when she is tackled to the ground. The discomfort of her arm, pinned behind her, makes her look back.

The way Amaya is looking at her is a different kind of burn. She does not require an interpreter for it: _I’m sorry, you can’t, it’s too late, I’m sorry._

She lets grief swallow her whole.

* * *

  
Janai gives herself a few minutes to sob recklessly against the ground (her sister, _her sister_ ) before pushing down her emotions. From far away, she can feel Amaya’s hand on her back, thumb rubbing gently, can feel the hand holding her own. She tries to let it ground her as she thinks of what needs to be done. She needs to get her people out of the line of fire, assess the threat. She needs to get to work.

She sits up slowly. Amaya releases her, rocking backwards, looking at her with deep sorrowful concern.

She wipes at her eyes with a hand, clenching her jaw hard against the ball of pain swirling around in her gut. Slowing her breathing down, she focuses deep on the rush of air in and out.

“We must gather the city’s forces. Evacuate anyone who would be in his path as Viren leaves. Find out if any witnesses to what happened are still alive. Discover if his wider plans present an immediate threat,” she recites as she turns to face Amaya and stands.

Amaya nods firmly.

The thought of command almost makes her sob again. She can’t think about it, she has to try and forget, at least for now, who she will be.

“If we can find a few soldiers to accompany you, will you evacuate the route out of the city? And I will try to recall the city’s forces to a central meeting point.”

She shakes her head, a firm refusal. Her mouth is a fierce slash. Amaya points to herself, jams her fists together, then points at her. Then she reaches up to unclip her shield, and brings it to the ready.

The message is simple enough an interpreter is unnecessary. Her throat gets tight again, as she realizes what Amaya means.

She will not leave her.

* * *

  
The scout stands in front of her, visibly shaken.

“And what was your estimate for their numbers?”

“2600-2800, maybe more, General.”

She wants to be sick. The whole Lux Aurean army close enough to muster might number 1200, and some must remain to aid the populace. The hand she is resting on the table makes a tight fist, and she suppresses the urge to bang it against the wood. They will be horribly outnumbered, and everyone in the room knows it.

“Locate their forces for me on the map again, Lieutenant.” Despite her agony, she can still feel that something is nagging at her. Something isn’t right.

Standing behind her chair, Amaya signs something to Kazi.

“Ah. General Amaya says some might stand down, if she were close enough to signal them.”

The scout, pointing at the map, looks up in surprise. Then he winces. “They were… glowing, and mutated. The dark mage has done something to them. They are probably beyond reason.”

That Viren creature was truly a wretch, one she will take great pleasure in killing.

As she looks down at the map, it hits her.

“We have been assuming Lux Aurea is the target,” she says, finger tapping against the map. “But their army is too far south. They could have marched straight here, if that was their aim.” She looks back over her shoulder at Amaya— another’s intuition will make her feel considerably better.

Amaya’s face goes surprised, then carefully intent. She comes forward to stand right behind her and looks down at the map, the angle making her face look narrow and hawkish. Her eyes trace the army’s location and distance with expert care, then she starts to sign. At first she goes too fast, Kazi is struggling to follow it; she starts over, slower, and the interpretation is more successful.

“You’re right. They would have angled further north, and stopped to make camp for an attack on Lux Aurea in the morning. Is there anything of strategic importance on their route?”

Janai looks down at the map again. She projects their course forward, avoiding geographical obstacles.

“The Storm Spire,” she realizes at once, folding forward. “Home of the Dragon Queen.”

She can see the blood drain from the faces of the soldiers around her. Of course their target is the Storm Spire, where Zubeia currently lays unconscious; the perfect target for an extremely dangerous dark mage who uses the energy of other beings to fuel his vile powers.

“We cannot let them take it.” She wants to fight them, she can’t deny it. The murder of her sister cannot go unanswered. But letting them have that kind of power would be beyond dangerous, and letting them kill another archdragon is an omen of a thing so terrible she cannot imagine it. She’s in the right. They must stop this army here and now.

“There is no way to evacuate it?” Kazi asks, interpreting smoothly.

Hm. With magic, Zubeia might be moved. But probably not before it was too late. “I don’t think so, not in the time we have. It is a worthy suggestion, though. Someone must fly ahead and warn them in any case. The rest will march at full speed towards the spire. Our location will give us at least a half day of advantage.”

The soldiers nod in unison, looking worried but a little more resolute.

She sighs out raggedly. “What about evacuating Lux Aurea? If the city is not his target, it might be safer to leave the civilians in place.”

“No,” Kazi says as Amaya signs behind them. “Even if it’s not his first target, his return route will take him too close. He hates your kind. If his army still stands he will raze the city as he passes.”

The horror of this day will just not stop. If she has a single spare moment, she knows she will fall apart. “If the city could withstand a siege it might be better to fortify it, but it is not particularly defensible. We will evacuate everyone well enough to travel as soon as they receive word we have failed,” she stands, trying to look far more certain than she feels. “It seems, my friends, that success is our only option.”

“General,” the soldiers chant, bowing in unison.

She nods. “Be about your duties. There is much to be done.”

* * *

  
Night has fallen. The stars are less visible than they should be, even a little way outside the city where the army has gathered.

Janai is trying to ignore her throbbing temples and the heaviness of her limbs. Every time she closes her eyes, she wants to shout and curse and fall apart. It’s easier to focus on inventorying the supplies they will need; to track the counts of armor and weapons and food. More useful, as well, to account for how much should be set aside in case of evacuation, and give orders to servants and soldiers and nobles alike; less pointless than collapsing into grief and exhaustion.

When she hears someone enter the command tent, she knows who it must be. Only one person would have the temerity to simply walk in without announcing themselves. When she turns, her instinct is confirmed: Amaya has come, with Kazi trailing anxiously behind her.

The sight of the General, who has been such a comfort to her, only seems to deepen the pit in her stomach. There is something she has been meaning to say.

“You don’t have to stay,” she says, throat tight. A hand goes up to her hairline, where the tug of her headpiece leaves an unpleasant ache. “You know as well as I do what our chances are. This is not your fight, to die for it is... I will not…” Janai can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. She won’t ask her to stay, won’t censure her if she goes, will not order a search for her; her _prisoner_ , it’s even more of a joke, now.

Amaya just shakes her head.

She points upwards and shakes her index finger, points at her, then both fingers chop towards her. Then she points back at herself, and pushes out again.

It looks similar enough to what she signed before to guess that the meaning is similar. When she looks over to Kazi, blushing dark red and so embarrassed they’d prefer swallowing their tongue to interpreting, her suspicion is confirmed.

It takes the scholar a moment to gather the nerve to speak, and the words come out a little strangled.

“Where you go, I go,” Kazi says, embarrassment choking the words, but with a thread of admiration underneath it.

Her eyes burn, and she shuts them tightly. Now she wishes to swallow her own tongue. It’s too much, altogether too much, to feel this way in the middle of such devastation; a single cool oasis in the desert, one last bulwark against despair. If she must die, getting to do it beside _this woman_ , proud and smart and unmatched with the sword, beautiful and true, well, there are no words for what it means to have received this one comfort at the worst point of her life. To find something that feels like this in the middle of it, after so much struggling and hoping, so much loneliness.

“You need to sleep.”

The command is so abrupt and unexpected, she almost laughs. Kazi speaking the words sounding as if the sweet release of death would be a relief only makes it funnier.

She has just been nagged by unwilling, exceptionally nervous proxy.

“There is too much to do,” she shakes her head, almost smiling.

Amaya appears close behind her looking stern and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. She signs again, obviously repeating herself.

She doesn’t wait for Kazi, leaning into the woman behind her in response. Her head still shakes though. It isn’t as if she doesn’t know it would be better to rest, especially the day before a battle.

“I can’t,” she explains, voice rusty and quiet. She isn’t ready to close her eyes and relive it. She cannot face that nightmare just yet.

Amaya holds her gaze, deep and intense. There is something aching in her expression that tells her she is understood. Then she gives a short, sharp nod, and stalks out of the tent.

Kazi and her share an aggrieved sigh.

She waves a hand at the tent entrance Amaya has disappeared through. “You’d best follow her.”

Who knows what sort of trouble she is liable to find.

* * *

  
The last thing she expects is for Amaya to return, not even half an hour later, with a pair of training swords. Spirits knows where she found them, or how she acquired them. She can only guess her soldiers are so confused by the situation they just immediately acquiesced.

She wonders if she has been punted into some strange, parallel world when Amaya holds one of them out to her.

“You can’t be serious,” she asks, truly and sincerely mystified.

Amaya just nods.

When that doesn’t get the response she wants, she sets down her own sword to sign to Kazi.

“Just try it. One bout, and you can go back to work.”

Janai stands with a sigh, chair scraping as she pushes it back. It will be faster to spar than argue, she expects. She strides forward with a grouchy look on her face, snatching the second sword as she passes.

The area outside her tent is reasonably clear. During the day there was too much foot traffic for it to be safe for a swordfight, but it is so late only a few soldiers are milling about, along with the few set to stand watch. She decides that will be good enough.

She settles into a fighting stance, holding the blunt, heavy training weapon what would have been blade out. Amaya just stands, sword in hand, relaxed but focused.

Of course, she will have to strike first. She darts forward, coming in for a wide, sweeping attack, which is deflected with a metallic scrape. The force of it jars her shoulder more harshly than normal. Amaya snaps forward into a rather half-hearted lunge, which she side steps easily. She scowls.

What, does the general think that because she is tired she will be easy prey? She whirls into a fast combination, striking high and low, swords clashing angrily in the cool night air. The use of force has begun to feel good, soothing. She slashes again, twice as hard, a grunt of exertion escaping. Anger is simmering under the surface of her skin, under the dirt and exhaustion. Her jaw feels tight, throat full of cotton.

Amaya shoves her back with the flat of the sword, dancing sideways and into another whirling overhand attack. She is moving slow, obviously holding back. Holding back! Against her, one of the foremost warriors of her people! She snarls, pressing forward hard, sword swiping out in dramatic arcs. She’s panting, stuffed to the brim with something just out of reach, arms already starting to weaken.

If this is all she is capable of, she’ll be dead tomorrow. That’s for certain.

A desperate, angry fear awakens in her, something coming unspooled. With a wild shout, she flings herself at her opponent, bringing her sword down again and again. It is all Amaya can do to block, bracing herself with her thighs and holding her sword out.

Her own legs are shaking. She reaches up to wipe the sweat from her forehead and realizes her cheeks are damp with tears.

 _No_.

She can’t fall apart. Not now. Her knees buckle as she fights for control with a rough edged cry.

Amaya drops her sword and folds her up in her arms in the work of a second, squeezing so tightly she can feel where the plates of her armor are. One of her hands goes to the back of her head, guiding her until her nose is buried in the crux of an armored shoulder. She wants to be angry at the presumption, but she has started to sob, silent, against that slender, pale neck.

Her whole body is shaking. She stays, curled in like that, trying to breathe, but it goes on and on. The weight of the plated arm across her shoulders is a lone tether, her only protection against what’s crashing down on her.

The last thing she remembers is the cool air and the stars and Amaya, warm against her.

* * *

  
“Golden Knight.”

She wakes to one of her regional commanders, prodding her tentatively with the sheath of a sword. At first she is disoriented, legs kicking out, before she can place herself. She’s in the tent, on a cot, outside the city. Morning sun has just started creeping under the bottom of the fabric. How has she gotten there?

The soldier looks horrified. “My apologies, Golden Knight.” He must have had trouble waking her.

She sits up with a jerk, blanket sliding down to her waist.

It’s morning. She has an impossible list of things to do, and little time to do it. Spirits, how long has she slept?

 _Amaya_.

She is going to kill that woman at the first possible opportunity. She did that on purpose. How had she known it would work? Had she _carried_ her to bed? In the middle of the camp? Scheming dastardly woman. Taking the word ‘unseemly’ to new and exciting heights. Her invective laden rant is cut short as she stands and realizes that she does, in fact, feel a little better.

Even a few hours of sleep were better than none, it seemed. She nods to the commander, a polite dismissal, before trying to prioritize what must be completed before they set off.

Her mind is still whirring when she almost trips over Amaya.

She is asleep, sitting straight up. She propped herself against a storage chest and went to sleep that way. Her dark hair hangs down in her eyes, nose whistling with the faint sound of her breathing. She looks peaceful, except that she is making the slightest frown.

Janai crouches down next to her, smiling before she can stop herself. Her anger winks out all at once. It takes a moment to consider the best way to politely wake a deaf person. She doesn’t wish to startle her, it seems crude to just reach out and shake her. She’ll have to remember to have Kazi ask, for next time. In lieu of a better solution, she reaches down and taps the inside of her forearm, just below the end of her bracer.

It works after a few seconds, Amaya’s face scrunching a little as she starts to stir. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused still, roaming until they notice her presence. She jolts a little on seeing her, and so close; her face shifts to a sheepish, shy expression. She smiles, tentative, with a bit of a wobble.

Janai is, suddenly, quite glad she is riding off to a near suicidal battle. It’s a revelation she does not wish to examine, that this is what she finds utterly charming. The deft compliments of noblemen, all the finely honed invitations and honeyed conversation in Xadia, have failed to move her. But this, this, of all the things and people in the world, is the sweetest, best thing she can imagine. The urge to lean closer tugs at her; faint, now, with all their other worries. But she knows the problem will only get worse.

She clears her throat and stands. Better to remove herself from temptation.

Amaya stands with her, but stiffer and slow.

The desire to reach out to her returns, but worse. Of course she is stiff and in pain. She has slept on the bare ground for a week straight, without so much as a blanket. A rush of guilt and frustration comes over her, a litany of ‘I should have’s’ but now it is too late for them. It has been a week since they were enemies; not even a week, yet! So little time for her life to have changed with such completeness.

If they live, if they win and make it home, she will make it right. Amaya will have one of the rooms the palace keeps for their most respected guests, and the choicest of meals, and as many baths as she wishes for. Surely she might stay for a few days, after? She will wish to go home of course, but perhaps, if she asks, a visit would not be out of the question? For diplomacy, or something, she’s sure she can find some reasonable sounding excuse.

Amaya is watching her with a great deal of curiosity.

She scowls and almost swears. She’s sure her face is red again. This is getting out of hand.

“After everything is packed up, I will order our forces to march,” she says after clearing her throat. “Be ready to leave as soon as possible.”

She turns and leaves, so she doesn’t have to see Amaya smirking at her.

* * *

  
The supplies for the soldiers have been loaded up and everyone is properly equipped. Janai taps at her chin, trying to determine if there is something else she has missed. She paces, boots stirring up loose dirt beneath her feet. The logistical preparation before a battle has never been her strong suit.

The soldiers around her, chatting in low tones, go silent. The sudden lack draws her attention, and when she turns she sees short black hair moving closer over the heads of the crowd as people move aside to make way. Amaya comes to stand in front of her with a distinct air of nonchalance which is immediately contradicted by the worried look on Kazi’s face, who has shuffled in behind her.

Amaya is holding a plate of food in one hand. She proceeds to hold the plate out towards her with an expectant air.

Janai feels her mouth open, but no sound escapes. She cannot be serious?

The food is pushed into her hands intently, and she takes it for lack of a better course of action. “I’m really not hungry,” she explains with a distant, shell shocked expression.

The rapid signing going on seems to indicate refusal is not an acceptable option.

“You haven’t had breakfast,” Kazi interprets. The signs continue. “Breakfast is the…”

Janai stops that sentence in its tracks by raising a hand, livid. There is no need for a translation of what _that_ remark was going to be. She turns to Amaya.

“I must warn you,” she says, voice dark and dangerous. “If what you were trying to say is ‘breakfast is the most important meal of the day’, I urge you to reconsider.”

Amaya shrugs with a hammy smirk on her face.

“Of all the—” she huffs, closing her eyes with frustration. Of course Amaya is one of _those_ people. “I swear on the names of my ancestors I will have you executed, I will absolutely do it.”

Shoulders covered by metal plate shake with silent laughter. She seems curiously undeterred by the threat, and points to the plate again.

Janai looks down at it with a scowl. She’s going to eat it, isn’t she.

* * *

  
The rest of the army has set off hours ago. The preparations for the city are finally complete, and a gryphon has been prepared for her.

“I will be going personally to the Storm Spire, to deliver a warning. I’m guessing you will wish to accompany me?” she asks, though she doesn’t need to.

Amaya is inspecting the gryphon curiously, circling around it with an intent look. One hand reaches out to poke it when it almost knocks her over with one of its wings. She’s as proud and strong as ever, shield glinting in the harsh sun, as she glances back up to Janai and gives a decisive nod.

Janai mounts the gryphon with the ease of long practice, getting settled on the saddle and making sure their small bag of emergency supplies is well secured. It’s easier, since the beast is lying prone on the ground with its legs tucked beneath it. She makes a last mental check for things she may have forgotten, even though it is too late to pick up anything else. She’ll be glad to be done with worrying and move on to action.

At the side of the gryphon, Amaya is inspecting the saddle looking a bit puzzled. She understands. Mounting something with wings is different from a horse. Mounting something with large, sharp teeth and claws is especially different from a horse.

She reaches out and holds a hand down. It will be easier to pull Amaya up than explain, there will be time to learn how to ride such a beast properly later. Even though her head is at about waist height, the general still manages to give her a scorching once over, obviously impressed by the sight of her astride the majestic animal. She is rather embarrassed to note that the bold regard leaves little shivers in its wake.

She scowls and looks away. Amaya chooses this moment to take her hand, tugging gently. When Janai looks down again, the woman is smiling up at her; not with the smugness she expects, but something softer and filled with quiet pleasure.

Her grip tightens as she gets ready to pull her up, but as their palms press she notices something. The texture of Amaya’s glove is wrong, warped and uneven. She releases the hand and grabs her by the wrist instead, turning the palm towards her.

The leather of her glove is _melted_. In places it has burned all the way through.

Spirits, when had that happened? Why hadn’t she said something, asked for replacements?

While her mind jitters, her memory places it; knowledge crashes into her like a physical blow. She watched her sister die, and channeled her rage and pain into strength. She’d _changed_ , her skin was molten hot, and Amaya had tackled her to the ground. Amaya had held her hand. She’d stopped her from flinging herself into certain death against an enemy she did not yet have the ability to defeat, and burned her hands for it without qualm, without complaint or hesitation. A pure heart. Even on the day when she sits as Queen on the highest throne, still this woman will be her better.

“Amaya I—” her voice gets caught in her throat.

It is, all of a sudden, unbearable.

There just isn’t time; every day gets worse and worse. There is so much to say, and no space for it. Her apologies, her gratitude, all of it bundled up together for the woman she brought to her land in chains and who has stood by her and protected her and cared for her. She feels like she is overflowing with it, choked by the sheer volume of things she cannot express— if they could just have a spare _hour_ to talk. Even then, they’d have to do it with thrice damned Kazi standing there! How can Amaya bear it?

She is brought back to herself by a hand on her knee. Amaya is looking at her, dark brows drawn together, worried and patient. She shakes her head, then turns her hand back over to lace their fingers together. Her kind brown eyes have not a drop of recrimination or anger.

Amaya is used to it, she realizes. This is her life every day: she cannot speak. She knows her actions must often communicate for her. She has learned to wait; to strain less against the things she cannot change. To do what she can, when she can. For a warrior to be so patient and careful, one with a lean tall frame and strong shoulders, one who _looks_ at her like that, it’s all too much.

By the sun, she wishes to know her. She will have to learn to sign.

In the meantime, she will speak the language they can both understand. Janai starts by unlacing their fingers, reaching with her other hand until Amaya’s glove is clasped firmly between her two palms. She leans, twisting in the saddle, bending at the waist until she can reach down and press a kiss to the crest of Amaya’s knuckles. She holds her lips there for a second, for more than a second, breathing in the earthy, metallic smell of armor on leather on skin.

When she pulls back, she finds Amaya blushing darkly, eyes wide and awestruck.

She smirks. It feels very good to be the one causing that, rather than doing it.

Before she has recovered, Janai tugs her onto the gryphon.

* * *

  
She was surprised when Ibis intercepted them mid flight and told them the stakes were higher than they thought. She was exceptionally surprised to land and discover a cadre of elves and humans, two of which were apparently Amaya’s _nephews_. At the Storm Spire!

Humans have been leaking through the border like it were cheesecloth, apparently.

She is still considering how to introduce herself, given that she has spent the last week imprisoning their aunt, when the older boy decides her presence means they both have elf friends. Of all things.

She can see Amaya looking at her, amused and expectant, from the corner of her eye.

“We are not… friends,” she says, feeling herself blush, scowling to compensate. She is not sure a word exists for what they are, in this specific scenario. ‘Friends’ is certainly not it. “She is my prisoner.”

It falls a little flat, considering Amaya is standing next to her, well armed and unrestrained, in full plate armor.

She dearly wishes she knew what Amaya signed in response to that particular statement.

The whole encounter is surreal. The dragon prince is alive, in front of her. A few minutes later Amaya’s younger nephew, the one who looks around _ten_ , climbs aboard a dragon and _flies off_ on it. A moonshadow elf, a well trained looking one with _assassin daggers_ , is holding hands with the other nephew.

It is not quite enough to give her hope, but doing the impossible seems a little less out of reach.

* * *

  
She puts thoughts of hope out of her mind.

The human army has become visible over the rise of the hill. They are outnumbered by an absurd amount, not even considering that the enemy is bursting with the stolen strength of her own people. And yet, she does not feel despair.

There is a peace, in it.

To die fighting on the battlefield, doing what she is meant to do, what it has always been her destiny to do; that is a worthy end. A fitting one, like the end a well constructed sentence. After everything: her grandparents, her honored, wise grandmother, her own dear parents, her sister — her annoying, stuffy, overprotective big sister, dead!— it is enough to have the story finish with her. Not as ruler but a leader, not on the throne but in a field.

There are worse ways to go than with a sunforged blade in her hand, loyal soldiers at her back, and Amaya by her side.

* * *

  
She knows the exact moment when victory becomes possible. How the weights tilt on the scale and the balance shifts, lifting them up, propelling them to the turning point, to the peak. She is breathing hard, but the heartbeat pounding in her wrists and neck and chest is a triumphant drum. Victory is a _song_.

Amaya feels it too, she knows.

Even in heavy armor the woman is an artist, a lithe blur of motion that spears or bludgeons or outmeanuevers her foes. She is grinning, savage and sharp, as her shield pins one man while another falls to a snapping hook kick. She doesn’t even bother with a sword of her own, stealing them from disarmed enemies and disposing of them just as quickly.

Reinforcements have come and pressured the enemy from behind. Their attention split, and with the number advantage going the other direction, they will have no choice but to surrender soon.

 _Human_ reinforcements.

It is not the moonshadow elves, nor their neighbors the earthblood, who have heard their plight and come. A human Queen made that journey to do what is right, with armies of her own and next to them, troops bearing the standard of Katolis. Men and women who are loyal to King Ezran, who is flying above on a dragon— loyal to him and to General Amaya.

The soldiers she thought she could convince to stand down never marched at all.

They refused to listen to the usurper Viren, refused to be complicit in something they knew was wrong. They came here, to fight and bleed, in a land not their own.

She and her people have been saved. In the back rows, enemies are already throwing down their swords and surrendering.

Amaya, not far from her, catches her eye as she holds her shield aloft. Her hair is damp with sweat, plastered to her forehead, and her armor is covered with burns and knicks. Janai would struggle to name a more beautiful sight. They are surrounded by people, but still she is desperately tempted to stride over and pull her into a messy, exhilarated kiss; she is burning to feel those wiry, firm arms wrap around her and to express her thanks at last.

For she will not forget it, not anything that happened on this day. This whole week will be written into her soul.

Her own strength was not enough. Her own knowledge was not enough. The salvation of her home has been derived from a people she did not respect, or understand. The loyalty and compassion Amaya has shown her are gifts she did not earn.

Janai, Golden Knight of Lux Aurea, sole heir to the throne and last of her name, will remember it. On her honor, she will pay it back. No one will coerce her to push them aside, never. The Sunfire Elves will adapt just as she has. It won’t stop here: she will learn better, she will avenge her sister, she will leave a better world behind her.

She will do all these things, and she will kiss that woman.  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://ladyptarmigan.tumblr.com/)! Next chapter might take a leeetle longer, I'm still struggling with some elements of Amaya's POV. Let me know if you wouldn't mind being a guinea pig, I might need a person or two to help figure out if how I'm formatting multi-person conversations is readable (it started to get nuts once there was signing and speech and interpretation all going on together JEEZ).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not sure about the chapter count, I reached word count on my very rough draft of chapter 5 and the story wasn't done sooooo... there's a chap 6 I guess? Maybe? Also, thanks @Turwen for helping beta the chap!
> 
> Welcome to Amaya POV everyone! I decided on using _“italics”_ for signed dialogue. So any time a character signs it'll be italicized and in dialogue tags, anything else is spoken dialogue. Hopefully it's clear and readable, definitely one of my harder writing challenges. I've also tried to be as clear as I can if an interpreter is there, I don't double the dialogue, I try to just indicate they are doing their thing. Let me know if something isn't working, or what things flow well!

* * *

Callum and Ezran, safe. Gren, safe. The rest of her troops, or most of them, anyway — also safe. It’s a far better end to the day than she expected.

Janai too, is well. As well as can be expected. She’s been watching, looking out for her as best she can. The battle was much easier than the reality of what comes after; already, every single elf around jumps to her slightest whim or vaguest command. The improbable nature of their victory has cast her status in an even more mystical, sensational light: she will be Sunfire Queen.

She’s had them come to Lux Aurea in the aftermath, all of them. Ezran and Queen Aanya, especially, but whichever of their guard or staff they deem necessary as well. There will be a great deal to discuss. They are still making arrangements due to the prisoners, and the need to provision the soldiers who will march directly home.

Normally, she would be in charge of those arrangements. Instead, she has agreed to go ahead to Lux Aurea with Janai.

She hadn’t meant to say yes.

There was so much that needed to be done. But Janai’s face, there had been a scared little crack through her normal haughty confidence; something in her chest ached to see it. And, well, since the rest were safe, if Janai needed her, she would go. If her presence would help, if it would be a comfort at all, she would go.

Of all the people in danger around her, Amaya worries the one most at risk might be herself.

* * *

  
Gren is making fun of her, and has been for half the trip back to Lux Aurea. He knows no one else understands sign.

 _“I can’t believe you were captured for a week and came out with a girlfriend.”_ His eyebrows go up comically as he signs.

She frowns. _“It isn’t like that.”_

Her denials have gotten weaker and weaker as they travel. She knows how she feels is transparent. Even if they hadn’t followed Janai home like a puppy, she knows she keeps looking at her. How could she not? The clear eyed, straight backed strength of her, with her sharp, angular features, and her hair like a thick corded armful of fire; she shines with the wildness and sanctity of the sun. Her beauty is gentle warmth one moment and blinding heat the next.

 _“She’s going to be Queen. We can’t…”_ Her hands stop. She’s okay with it. She _is_. She has to be.

It would have been one thing, if she were still a foreign military leader. They might have visited, written letters. But a Queen can’t… not with a human, with peace so unstable. Not with a woman like her. She doesn’t see herself as lacking, she’s been deaf her whole life and never known different — she gets along better than most. But she saw her sister rule; how much diplomacy it required, how many hours of meetings and meals and debate. A human from a foreign land, and a military official besides that. She isn’t suitable.

 _“General.”_ His face goes serious and earnest with the sign.

Amaya feels a little wary, seeing it. That’s his determined, no option but to turn the tables expression. But part of being a gifted general is knowing what fights can’t be won.

And it’s enough, to know this feeling again so many years after putting that part of herself away. After Sarai, she hadn’t had the heart to try anymore. Knowing someone out there feels so familiar to her spirit, so much so that she might have… that if things were different, that they would have… well. She will give whatever she can. She will accept what Janai can offer, and make her peace with what comes after.

* * *

  
Her second visit to the royal palace is very different from the first.

Janai sweeps in at the head of the procession of soldiers, gets through the entrance hall, and runs almost immediately into a tightly clustered group of political and religious dignitaries. Their clothing, rich red and gold robes with a wide variety of jeweled accents and cuts, mark them as the most influential of the city. They begin talking almost all at once, an uninterpretable garble.

Amaya does not even try to discern any of it. It seems Janai has as little patience for it as she does, for she cuts them off with a hand held aloft.

“That’s enough,” Janai says, face casting the words with a harsh edge different from her normal prickliness. “You will hear report from me on what has occurred in the field after we have rested. Regarding the other matter, I will hear nothing on that topic until arrangements have been made for my sister. The full 14 days of mourning.”

“We intend no disrespect,’” starts a robed male elf with ornamented hair. “People are afraid, with no one on the throne. In these times.”

Janai nods at him, a little more sympathetic. “I am called upon, so I will rule. But until the Sunforge is purified, there will be no coronation.”

The throng of people alternately go stunned and pale, or erupt into unison protest. Amaya wonders how the mechanics of succession work in Lux Aurea. In the field, Janai had been treated as if she were already Queen. Clearly, there is some provision for the functions of rule, even missing whatever vital ritual might accompany the crowning a new monarch. Yet the nobility seems unsettled, more so than the soldiers had.

Janai gets that very specific snarl on her face that speaks to imminent violence, one that Amaya recognizes well, and the officials quiet. It is an impressive threat. The sight of it sends a frisson down her neck and shoulders, a little shiver of thrill that makes her breathe in hard through her nose.

“I will not participate in a faulty imitation of our traditions, out of fear. Come up with something else, some smaller event to announce my ascension. Call me acting Queen for the time being, if necessary. I don’t care. We have bigger concerns at the moment. Where is Enofe?”

Amaya’s eyes narrow. Asking ‘where’ implies the last word is a name, but she can’t quite make it out. She will have to wait and see if someone is brought forward, or if it might refer to a ceremonial item or be some other unknown terminology.

An officious but less transparently wealthy elf is brought forward a moment later. A name, then.

“Enofe,” Janai says, starting in without a pause. “We must begin preparations immediately. King Ezran of Katolis and Queen Aanya of Duren will arrive tomorrow, or early the day after. Prepare the finest possible accommodations for them. For them, and for…” she stumbles briefly, mouth stopping, then half turns towards her. “For General Amaya, if you would.”

Enofe startles a little, but his stern features betray only a hint of what he might be thinking. He snaps down into the arms up, palms turned in bow she saw used during her audience with Queen Khessa, but hesitates at what she can only assume would have been a title, had he spoken. It seems he will too will avoid the question of what Janai’s to be called, at this exact moment. Perhaps no one wishes to be the first to symbolically replace the last queen.

He strides toward her with finely tuned hurry.

“I’m assuming your compatriot will require lodging as well?” the older elf asks, looking at her.

Gren clears his throat. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Commander Gren, I interpret for General Amaya while she’s in the field. I don’t need anything fancy, just a bed wherever one can be spared.”

Enofe’s eyes flick from her to him, then back again.

 _“There are no unfancy beds,”_ she signs the joke, partially for payback, and partially because she can tell the elven man hasn’t followed why Gren might be required. Everything happened so quickly, she isn’t surprised information about her stayed relatively contained. He will wish to know, if only so that there is no awkwardness from maters like an unwary servant knocking at her door to check if she's absent and not realizing there would be no response regardless.

Gren grins, then signs back, _“You would know.”_

Even though she wouldn’t. Her stay in Lux Aurea has been spent far from any beds or bed related materials, sadly.

“If you’ll both follow me, I’ll take you down to the baths. Feel free to enjoy the facilities while a room is prepared. We can launder your clothing as well, if you’d like,” Enofe says, gesturing towards a door with an arm.

A bath sounds wonderful. Not just wonderful, a bath sounds transcendentally divine. Her skin is caked with sweat and grime accumulated over days and days of heat, travel, and combat. Her gambeson and undershirt are so disgusting she would be thrown out of the nicer Katolian establishments. She moves to follow the man, then stops.

She turns her head, finding Janai almost despite herself.

It takes a moment to place her, though she has barely moved. The poor woman has become encircled by nobles. Janai’s shoulders are stiff as boulders and her brows are drawn together, a clipped frown making her look even more agonized and distant. She’s crossed her arms in front of her, as if a physical barrier might drive off unwelcome conversation. She looks one step from tapping her foot with impatience.

Amaya has just decided to intervene when Janai notices her regard and looks over. The eye contact has the weight of a handshake even across the room, friendly and clasping. Her head shakes, the smallest most incremental gesture, as her frown turns for an instant into a sad smile. Her meaning is obvious; that Amaya should go, that they will catch up later.

Even so, her stomach twists miserably at turning away. It feels like sending someone on a dangerous mission that she could have taken, like leaving a man behind; she’s too slow, too weak, should have done more. It’s _Janai_ , how can she leave her standing alone?

It’s Janai. She’s strong, she’s fine. She’s facing nobles, not enemy soldiers. But still, her heart is aching as she goes.

* * *

  
She takes a luxurious bath, is led to a room, and immediately falls asleep.

When she wakes, it isn’t even light out yet. She spreads out in the bed and finds the sheets so comfortable there is barely any friction as she moves. Her languid stretching produces the warmest, nicest ache in her shoulders and back, and she is half tempted to turn over and go back to sleep. Only curiosity pulls her from bed.

She hadn’t even bothered to inspect the room, before. She was too tired, and a warm bath like that would make anyone sleepy.

Amaya gets to her feet carefully, limbs tingling with chill at leaving the warmth of the covers. The sun has just started to creep over the horizon. It isn’t visible yet out the window, but pale, burnished light still has begun to illuminate the outside world. It’s enough to get the lay of the land. She turns in a circle, and realizes her room is enormous.

Enofe had obviously taken Janai at her word: the finest possible accommodations. It’s absurd, for a soldier to be housed in such a place. She’d been in their dungeon a week ago! And now, to this? There was a chandelier. There were wall sconces. Wall sconces, and tapestries, with vivid, beautiful scenes weaved into them, and a desk fully stocked with supplies. This was a room for nobility, for foreign dignitaries you wanted to impress. Not for a military official, marriage tie to the royal family or no.

Not exactly the traditional way to try and impress a girl, she laughs inwardly at Janai.

Gren will collapse laughing, when he sees this.

Not just Gren. Ezran would probably be roomed nearby! And given how much time he spends with Callum, they would all gather here. She will never escape it. Though, she supposes she doesn’t mind that bit. The boys might have seen the two of them holding hands near the Dragon Queen, it isn’t as if it’s a secret. She just doesn’t want them to feel bad for her, when it's time for them to leave. They care so much for her happiness.

It’s hard for her to explain to them. She has lost so many people who are gone forever. Relationships with her are difficult anyway — no matter how interested people seem at first, once infatuation dies away and the novelty is gone, things often break down. Communication is important for any couple, doubly so when one of the pair cannot speak. To become fluent in sign is an undertaking of years, just a basic conversation can take months of lessons. People get bored with it or become lazy, they get tired of having difficulty with something that should be easy. Better to lose someone to something she cannot control, to have them alive but out of her reach.

Better for life to get in the way in this more theatrical fashion, than another failure.

This way, she will always be left with the dream. That it might have worked, if they’d had the chance. That connection, and understanding, and soul-deep pull might have been enough.

* * *

  
She wanders through the halls of the palace for nearly half an hour, getting her bearings and exploring. She passes several servants who look on with palpable anxiety, and guesses they will send for someone higher ranking to corral her. She’s curious who will wind up with the job. She debates between taking another bath or trying to find the kitchens as she roams, watching as the sun creeps up.

It’s Kazi who eventually stumbles out from around a corner, looking bleary. This must be earlier than their normal wake up time. She feels a bit bad. The staff must have been too nervous to wake Gren for her, unsure how high status a guest he is.

She smiles, genuinely happy to see the friendly, if awkward, elf.

 _“I’m sorry if they woke you,”_ she signs.

 _“No, no,”_ Kazi’s hair bounces a bit as their head shakes. _“I’m happy to assist. And I hear we all owe thanks for the role you and your allies played in the battle.”_

 _“It is only a debt repaid. Without our mistakes, this would not have occurred.”_ It’s a simplified version of the truth, but she will not try to defend her people in this moment. Viren is the monster they made and grew, and they should have put him down themselves long ago.

Kazi considers this with a head tilt, surprised to hear her broach the subject, she suspects. _“Maybe so. But that doesn’t make me less glad today that my home is safe.”_

She nods to acknowledge the point.

 _“I’ve been instructed to show you to breakfast, if you would be amenable?”_ Kazi asks, signing.

 _“Yes, please.”_ She has to admit, her appetite has begun to nag. She’s used to army hours, and very early mornings. Janai might be awake as well, if the nobles hadn’t kept her up for too long. Amaya hopes she got to bed at an appropriate hour. She’d ask, but decides to spare Kazi the embarrassment.

Perhaps she will have Gren nag for her, when he is awake. He will be far more accommodating to her requests to harass the new leader of a formerly hostile nation.

They make their way to the dining area, Kazi providing interesting commentary about the architecture and cultural significance of the rooms and their decorations. When they find the room, she is surprised at the restrained size of the table and chairs, given the opulence and excess of everything else she’s seen. Rather than a long rectangle, the table is an artfully curved oval. A plate of food is already in the center, steaming hot vegetables in sauce on top of more of the tangy, pitted flatbread.

She sits with relief, already reaching to tear at the bread. At first, Kazi just stands behind her chair.

Amaya chews with an internal sigh, before twisting back to face the elf. _“Please, sit. There’s no way I can eat all this, and talking would be more interesting.”_

After a quick bout of hand wringing, Kazi replies. _“It would be quite…”_ the sentence cuts off, incomplete, as Kazi looks around the room.

 _“Improper?”_ Amaya asks with a wry smile. It did not require a genius intellect to guess the ending of that statement, though she couldn’t guess the taboo she might be breaking. Perhaps the room itself was reserved for those of high rank? _“Your people will struggle with the reign of Queen Janai.”_

Kazi actually laughs at that, a hand flying to their mouth as if to try and stop it. Then the scholar goes around the table to sit opposite her. _“You may be right,”_ they sign before grabbing a generous scoop of vegetables.

Amaya pauses, mouth still full of food, around a particularly spicy morsel. She breaths in and out a few times, letting the burn die down. She should have balanced it with more of the bread.

 _“Queen Khessa was not the same. Very concerned with respect.”_ Kazi looks thoughtful, signing slowly over the edge of the table.

Amaya could imagine that, she'd seen the disgust in her eyes at the sight of a human. That sort of concern for status never stayed put, it always spread downward like a fungus into a person’s treatment of tradesmen and servants, of the poor, the sick, and the less than fully able. She’d had many occasions to become familiar with that particular phenomenon. Without needing any other information, she knows Janai will make the better Queen.

_“The respect Janai asks for is only different.”_

Some sort of recognition comes alive in Kazi’s green eyes, but whatever they are going to say is cut off by the door opening.

As if summoned, Janai strides in with purpose and already fully dressed in her normal cape and scale armor.

“Good morning,” she says smoothly, directed at them both, though her gaze lingers on Amaya.

Kazi jolts up and out of the chair, torso dipping into a choppy bow.

Janai barely pays it any mind, coming to the chair next to Amaya and sitting with a relieved sigh.

 _“Good morning. I hope the nobles did not keep you awake too long,”_ she signs with a grin. Kazi interprets, accurately if haltingly, from the other side of the table as they take their seat again.

Janai tips her head back and grimaces. “I thought I would never escape.” She reaches over to grab food, eyes closing in enjoyment at the first bite.

 _“Let me know if you want me to fight any of them.”_ She feels a bit bad for poor Kazi, but Janai could surely use some joking after that sort of night.

“Don’t tempt me.” Her grin at that has too much tooth. She reaches out for more food but stops, face going tense and sad. “I do not think I will be well suited to the throne.”

Amaya wants to reach out and grab her shoulder, her forearm. That is a pain she knows well, but to explain the full story will take a long time. She wishes to tell it before she goes, but it will be easier with Gren. And better to do it when they are not trying to eat.

Instead, she sits back further in her chair and signs. _“You’ll be a great Queen.”_

“You will be a great Queen,” Kazi echoes her, barely a beat behind her signing. It's nearly Gren quality, and with the real conviction she would have spoken with. Amaya realizes at once that Kazi truly believes it, that Janai has won the scholar’s true loyalty at some point in all this. The same way she will win the loyalty of the rest of her people.

Janai gets a little red at that. The fact that she's so easily embarrassed is something Amaya very much wishes she had more time to enjoy. As it stands, it will be difficult just to fit in the things that must be said. To get her fill of teasing would be the work of years.

“I am impatient, abrupt, and despise long, drawn out debates. I am not sure these things are a recipe for success,” Janai says, suddenly finding one of the wall hangings particularly fascinating.

 _“They will learn to hold shorter meetings.”_ Amaya grins as Kazi interprets it; Janai looks over and is pulled into a soft smile as well. This time it’s warm — an inviting thing that relaxes the lines of her face at last. So she is doubly angry when they are interrupted.

Kazi and Janai both turn to the door; she guesses towards a knock or a message of some kind.

After Janai hears it she is scowling again. More than the scowl even, she finds the look in her eyes when she turns back upsetting. Something in them is desperate and hungry and flailing, and she reaches out to put a hand on her bracer without another thought. Her thumb wraps around to give a gentle squeeze. It isn’t enough, it just isn’t, but there's nothing else to do.

Janai places her other hand on top of Amaya’s own and presses down, before going to stand. Her arms cross, emotional armor coming into place again.

“It seems I am needed,” she says, face held carefully neutral.

Amaya only nods and wishes she’d had time for more breakfast. At least Janai had eaten a little. She feels guilty having distracted her, now. Perhaps she can harass a servant into delivering some to her later.

Janai turns to go, but stops halfway to the door. When she turns back, it's to Kazi strangely enough.

“I suppose I should warn you now,” she starts, posture radiating a subtle sort of uncertainty. “The rulers of Duren and Katolis should be arriving tomorrow. Kazi, I wanted to request that you give them a tour of the city and palace grounds.”

Kazi looks as surprised as Amaya feels.

“What? Me, your…” Kazi cuts off the sentence just before blurting out a questionable honorific.

“Yes, you.”

“But there are a whole host of more qualified dignitaries, real ambassadors, I’m just…”

“Just a scholar, a linguist?” Janai asks with a knowing shrug.

“Yes.”

“Kazi, do you wish to know what you will do, that none of those other dignitaries would be able to?”

Kazi nods, looking a bit ill and not at all as if they wish to know the answer.

“You will be able to look at King Ezran and Queen Aanya with genuine respect. You will listen to them, showing interest in the things they say and real curiosity about their ways and customs. You will be able to give charming, rambling anecdotes about the traditions of our own people without disdain for the practices of others.” Janai is firm and compelling as she speaks, like she could be pacing at the head of a battalion of soldiers. She doesn't feel the need to belabor the point further, Kazi knows it's true, but gives a regretful half smile anyway.

Amaya is just as surprised as Kazi, realizing what an insightful move it is. Even Janai had reacted to her with hostility, at first. Of course wartime relations are different, but still of all the elves she has met or can remember, the only one to immediately treat her with both friendliness and dignity is the careful scholar. Ezran and Aanya are both still children, no matter their wisdom and bravery. Any ranking political figure fit to receive them will be unable to conceal their contempt, on some level. Kazi is the better choice.

It’s brilliant. Amaya knew Janai would be a fine Queen.

Kazi breathes out shakily before nodding. Their fiercely intelligent eyes look at Janai with consideration before nodding again, more firmly. Amaya can see the thought running through their head plain as day: if you must, then I must.

Then the scholar does something she does not expect. Green eyes look out over round spectacles to meet Janai’s gaze squarely as they bend at the waist into a neat court bow, hands crossed at their forehead. Kazi’s chin juts out proudly, so as not to break eye contact.

“Your Radiance,” the scholar says, simple and firm.

For a moment, Janai is frozen with shock.

Those words have been in the eyes of everyone around for days, but no one has dared speak them aloud. For the first to be Kazi, of all people! Amaya feels pride burn in her chest, for both their sakes. Janai obviously wants to rebel against it. Her face screws up to reject the words, to insist that she’s still the warrior who hates titles, and hasn't even been crowned. But she can’t. She isn’t any longer, and hasn’t been since the moment her sister died.

Amaya understands, her sister experienced that first hand. It’s the hollow honor of titles that grates; the shallow reverence, how it is only a performance, an imitation of something real. This is not an imitation. From Kazi, for them to brave her displeasure just to say the words — this is a real tie of fealty. Her request has been accepted as a service done for the leader one has chosen to serve.

Kazi means it.

* * *

  
The day passes slowly. She finds Gren, and they have Kazi give them a practice tour. They learn many interesting facts, like the history of the water gardens, that a receiving area exists for dragons, and that Kazi’s favorite place is (predictably) the library. She can see why, it’s quite majestic and filled to the brim with intriguing looking tomes. If Janai is still buried in meetings by the afternoon, she may resort to reading for entertainment.

Before they split from Kazi, so the scholar can go about their own business, she made sure to have the servants pass along a request for Janai to meet with her later, when she has time.

She is still considering what cannot wait. There are many things she might put in a letter, later. Ezran and Callum have become close with the Dragon Prince, so they will wish to visit. There will be occasions to see Janai, arrangements to be made and diplomatic talks to attend. But what, of it all, is most important?

Amaya has told her she believes in her, that she knows Janai will be a good Queen. She will be a long time accepting it, but the first few steps are behind her. Kazi will be only the beginning, as others understand her merits as a ruler. Sarai struggled to see herself as the people saw her, that came with time. But then, her most pressing issue after that is not one Sarai dealt with. It's one she herself has.

If she had allowed them to make her Queen Regent, after Harrow died, none of this would have happened. At the time, she could not accept the role. It was different, of course. The proper heir to the throne lived, and was missing. She felt she had more important duties. But she could not deny how fear and self-loathing had contributed. How could she rule, when she couldn’t even protect them? When she could not succeed even in the job she knew best?

Janai has not had even a week to mourn her sister. It would help, at least a little, for her to know that someone understood.

She tries to bite down on the deeper truth: the best help of all would be to know she didn’t have to do it alone.

* * *

  
Gren does, in fact, almost collapse laughing when he sees her room.

He runs around pointing towards ostentatious details, crumpling halfway to the ground as soon as he gets close. When he’s gotten his fill of humor at one thing, he moves on to the next. The finely sculpted friezes. The bed. The desk chair, ornate beyond what any functional piece of furniture should be. All of it painted in gold, or carved from woods she could not even name.

_“I have seen it, you know.”_

_“Let me have my fun,”_ Gren signs with a pout. “ _I thought you were dead! I still can’t believe you and the boys just went ahead and ended the war by yourselves.”_

 _“It wasn’t quite like that.”_ She had realized quickly that neither side truly wished to fight, that both feared retaliation from the other more than they desired conflict. It had been so obvious that she and Janai were the same. That elves were the same, with the same faults and follies. Her anger had disintegrated like soggy bread in a hearty stew.

 _“Then how was it?”_ Gren is looking mischievous again.

_“It’s a long story.”_

_“How long a story can it be? It hasn’t even been two weeks, yet!”_

Amaya frowns and glares.

* * *

  
When Janai enters the room later that afternoon, Amaya breathes easily for the first time in hours. She is a notorious planner, worrier, and fretter, worse now after so much misfortune. Though the danger to Janai is more metaphorical than literal, her instincts can’t seem to calm down.

She wants to drag Janai into her arms and then sit her down for a long, quiet meal.

But Gren is here, and supportive though he may be it would still feel strange. Besides, once Ezran arrives they will both be a great deal busier. This is their best chance to talk. A spear of doubt catches her, that they should just be out with it, discuss their feelings while they have the chance. It’s selfish, it would serve her own desires instead of what's most needed. Still, what if she is letting fear choose for her?

She shakes herself, guiding Janai to sit. There are two armchairs angled towards each other on a rug, with a little table in front. She will drag the desk chair for a third.

“And what is this about?” Janai asks, looking from her to Gren.

She hefts the desk chair over and collapses in it next to Janai while considering where to start.

 _“Ezran and Aanya will arrive soon. Before that, I wish for you to know how these things came to pass. To know our mistakes as well as our desire not to repeat them. I think our peoples will be stronger together, but still there is risk any way you turn, and to make the best decision you can, I feel you must know the whole truth.”_ It takes a while to sign it, but Gren is smooth and sure. He looks surprised, clearly he had not expected quite this topic, but he does not hesitate.

Janai is surprised too. Her mouth opens a little, then she focuses in as her dark brows draw together in concentration. She touches her fingers to her throat before propping her head on the back of her hand.

So Amaya tells it.

She tells how seven years ago, winter came too soon and killed the harvest. How food stores were low when Duren came to beg aid from Katolis. The hundred thousand souls that famine would have wiped out, and how Viren came up with a plan to kill a magma titan for the spell that would warm the soil and feed the people. How Harrow trusted him like a brother, and how they hadn’t understood what using dark magic would truly mean, how it would infest and ruin.

She points to the mark on her face. _“This scar is from that battle. I was injured, and the rest could not retreat before Thunder came. Queen Annika and Queen Neha both fell. So too, did my Queen Sarai, my own beloved older sister. I would have given my life for hers, but I was not there. She died to protect that bastard Viren, because without him it was all for nothing.”_

She has to stop. Her hands are shaking, and she tries to blink away tears. It has been so long since she signed her sister’s name. Gren leans forward with concern, but Janai moves first.

The look in her eyes is so soft and sad. She reaches out, hand hovering close to her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

She understands, Janai _understands_. She could spend all night just on the grief of it, of that loss they share. And now Janai knows too, that she is not alone with it.

Amaya nods, trying to breathe. Both of their sisters, lost to Viren. She closes her eyes, surrendering. A moment later she feels Janai’s thumb stroke the raised scar below her eye, so gentle it almost tickles. The rest of her fingers brush through the hair behind her ear, toying with the short strands. Her touch is so light, but she feels it to her bones.

Janai. _Janai_.

She hasn’t finished, though. She can’t let herself be diverted before it is done. Amaya opens her eyes again, trying to drag her mind from the comfort being offered. She glances over, giving her a grateful smile, before shaking herself and finding where she left off.

 _“Harrow would never have come up with a plan to kill the Dragon King on his own, no matter how much he wanted revenge. If my sister lived, she’d have killed him herself to hear of such a thing. It was a foolishness he died for, more of Viren’s corruption.”_ She moves her hands fast, trying to keep hold of her thoughts, trying to make her meaning clear. _“This conflict has made orphans of both Ezran and Aanya. Other than my nephews, there is nothing left of my family.”_

Janai swallows hard.

 _“It’s the same, for you?”_ Amaya already knows enough to guess the answer.

“It’s gone. They’re all gone.” Janai’s face flinches as she says the words, a sharp splinter of pain. Amaya’s own heart breaks alongside hers.

_“We have fought each other for years and gained nothing. Different peoples or different countries, elf or human, in the end there is only one distinction that matters. The world is divided into two groups: those who bring on the darkness, and the ones who hold it back.”_

“They have profited from playing us against each other. Their plans depend on our ignorance and intolerance.” As Janai speaks, her shoulders pull back and her spine straightens. Her eyes blaze with conviction as she stares straight at Amaya.

Janai saw the implication instantly, as she’d known she would. That understanding is a connection just as electric as the rest of it, the eye contact and the appreciation and the warm crackling respect. Amaya is overcome by it, just to be looked at like that, to be looked at at all. Since he’s the one who physically speaks, some people face Gren — they look to him instead. No matter how used to it she is, it still makes her feel just a little invisible.

Janai never does that, never.

 _“They asked me to be Queen Regent, and I refused them. I had the same fears as you, that I would not be equal to the task. But fate has decided that history must be written by our own hands.”_ Amaya signs, holding eye contact with fierce, dramatic conviction. _“I cannot change what the nations do, or overturn the compact. I cannot fill the lava river with a shovel and heal the breach between our people. But there is one promise I can make. Whoever you name your enemy is my enemy also. If you need me, I will fight. If you send for me, I will come.”_

And with that, it is done. Amaya lets her hands fall to her sides with a relieved shudder. That most needed, most vital thing has been said. If there is danger (and there will be, of course there will be), they will meet it together.

Janai stands so suddenly the chair rocks backward. The force of it jars the rug. She is breathing hard, a desperate, steely longing written all over her face. For a moment she is resolved, and takes a step towards her. Then it falls away as her eyes squeeze shut. Her jaw clenches as her eyes open, and she looks at Gren, looks at the door. Her hands drop to her sides, fisting in her tabard a moment too slow to mask the faintest tremble.

Her stomach drops out as she realizes that if Gren were not here, Janai would have kissed her. It’s like a yawning pit opening up inside her, hungry and frantic. The light blush spreading across those high, elegant cheekbones is a fire in her own veins. She’s beautiful, so beautiful; strong and hesitant and wild, painted crimson and gold. Amaya wants her something terrible, her hands are restless with the urge to pull her down to a warm waiting lap and kiss those generous lips.

“Thank you,” Janai says instead, looking choked. The tension hangs heavy and tangible between them. “You know, of course… it’s the same for me. I’ll — I have several more meetings still, later, but after perhaps…” she cuts off the rather difficult to interpret garble, lacing her fingers together above her belt buckle. “Later, I will stop by?”

Amaya’s stomach drops again, relief and panic making a mess of her insides. She nods anyway.

The golden plated line of Janai’s shoulders settles at that; she nods back with a faint, pleased smile.

“Thank you,” she repeats again, calmer. She turns to Gren and inclines her head. “Commander Gren.”

Then she turns and leaves, just slow enough to still be called dignified.

Amaya stares at the floor, so she doesn’t have to see the look on Gren’s face. She scowls. She feels silly, doing it. Can’t quite bring herself to change her mind. Misses her sister. Not because it would have been less awkward (it wouldn’t), but because she would have called her an idiot and then given her good advice.

She looks up to find Gren staring at her, smile successfully suppressed, but both eyebrows raised with dramatic flair.

She can feel herself blushing.

 _“Shut the fuck up,”_ she signs, premeptively.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://ladyptarmigan.tumblr.com/)! Don't worry, next chapter they talk it out and finally get some action lol :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT TIME FOLKS!!! Amaya and Janai finally get things rolling, on a... personal level, shall we say? End of the fic is still sort of in flux, next chap will probably take more than a week. Why is writing so hard and yet so fun???

* * *

  
  
Rather than sit in her room with her heart strung out on a wire waiting for Janai to return, she decides to eat dinner with Gren. The palace staff direct and serve them with their typical half awed, half frightened compliance. She isn’t sure if the awe-fear combo is a result of them being human, their association with Janai, or due to Janai’s status in general.

Amaya has been watching, over the last day or two. During her tour, while people talk and she doesn’t feel like lipreading, and even just as she walks, she watches the people scattered around. The first thing she noticed was how scared they seemed, even the nobles.

The Queen’s death has caused this. For her to be killed without warning, without any aggression leading up to it, on a day like any other — fear is a normal response. And then immediately after, to hear an army is coming? That the only heir to the throne will march to meet it, almost certainly outnumbered and doomed?

For her to come back afterwards, victorious?

Pure magic. The normal sort. All that fear has somewhere to go, if they can hope for a new, wondrous leader to save them. The Golden Knight Janai, now a warrior Queen. They _want_ to believe in her. They need for her to be larger than life. She can see how she herself might have become wrapped up in that. A strange, foreign general, a human, brought to Lux Aurea a prisoner and returning at the side of their new Queen.

She taps a finger next to the serving plate, pausing to think. There’s something of use, in all that. Another thing to tell Janai before she goes, she supposes. She tries not to let that thought sting, and reaches for another bite of rich hearty vegetables and flatbread.

Seated next to her, Gren pulls his arms back from the food to turn to her and sign.

 _“You know that I’d follow you, help you however you needed? Whatever you choose to do.”_ Gren’s hands move with care, earnest and serious.

 _“I know.”_ She does know. Her most loyal soldier, her most loyal friend.

Gren watches her face intently. He’s learned a great deal from her over the years. _“Are you alright? Will you be?”_

She considers it seriously. Because of course she will, she has seen more than enough of life to know pain is just as much a part of it as joy, as love. General Amaya endures, she overcomes, she gets through. She cannot do otherwise. That is not to say that this hasn't thrown her, though.

_“What comes might be difficult. But I will be fine, if the people I care for are safe. Callum, Ezran, you, my troops, her. The danger I can see, to all of them, is what worries me most.”_

_“This threat is new, different. Magic, the dragon prince, Viren and his conspiracy. We don’t have the tools for it.”_ He looks worried, as he should.

_“Our jobs will be twice as difficult, going forward.”_

_“Have you considered the idea that you, working together with Janai, might be what we need most?”_

Her hands still in midair. Not like that, she hasn’t put it in those terms. She noticed that their skills were complementary, of course — that she and Janai made a good team. She’d realized things would go better if they were helping each other. She’s just been so worried about Callum and Ezran, and what was happening back in Katolis. It felt like a betrayal, to want to be elsewhere.

She doesn’t agree, not yet. But it is something to consider. It’s possible that the best way to protect Katolis and newly crowned Ezran _is_ in fact by better relations with the elves, and reliable collaboration with them. Though it should probably be done by messages and by diplomatic visits, rather than removing her from her post. Half the army defected, the entire military is in disarray; she can’t just leave. Still.

She can’t reject the idea by default. No matter how much it feels like wishful thinking.

* * *

  
Afterwards, she lays on top of the puffy, vibrantly colored comforter trying in vain to read a book. She picked a Xadian historical chronicle, thinking the difference in perspective would hold her interest. In normal circumstances, it would. Right now she can barely concentrate long enough to count to twenty five, not to mention follow complex, flowery writing about long past eras. Her eyes keep drifting to the door.

She tries to force herself to stop. She checks the time instead, the lone window providing almost all the clues she needs: stars out, waxing moon just rising, complete darkness otherwise. It’s past early evening, getting on time for even overeager bureaucrats to start preparing for bed.

Her mind is stuttering, helpless and inconvenient, over the idea of Janai _preparing for bed_ when the woman herself walks in.

Amaya’s mind shuts down altogether.

Janai has changed her plate and scaled armor out for genuine nightwear. She is wearing a lighter, baggier top, still with her cream leggings, but overtop of it all is a drapey, long sleeved robe in the familiar crimson with gold inlay style. She isn’t wearing shoes.

The most beautiful woman Amaya has ever seen is standing in her room, in her pajamas, barefoot. Before she can stop it, her brain churns out the garbage information that she must, in fact, have four toes as well as four fingers.

She clenches her jaw, tells her brain very firmly to stop. At once.

Fuck.

Janai scowls at her from across the room, as if she is a mindreader.

She isn’t, of course. It can only be that particular style of grouchy embarrassment Janai is so prone to. Amaya would like to deny how inordinately fond of it she already is, but she can’t. She _can’t_. She’s so fucked, so profoundly doomed. She doesn’t even know what she wants, anymore. Would it be worse to kiss her, to feel that incredible, lovely woman against her, to steal a single night? To know what it’s like to have her, to share all the intimacy they can, and then have to leave?

Would it be easier to let it be? Say no, explain, and try to keep what’s left of her heart? The fact that she even considers it tells her how scared she is. Anything could happen to her or to Janai, they are not guaranteed to survive even another week. She would regret it forever, to have held back and then lost her. But still, even still, she is afraid.

Janai scowls worse, then shakes her head at nothing. She stalks to the desk, fishing through the drawers and pulling out a sheaf of papers and a carved, delicate pen. Then she comes to the side of the bed, and flings them.

The pen lands in her lap. The papers scatter against her legs.

Joy sparks in her chest like kindling, and she has to hold herself still to stop from laughing. The sheer absurdity of it, of Janai marching in looking so mad and hurling writing utensils at her. Amaya dearly regrets that if she signed ‘princess’ at the wayward royal, she wouldn’t know she was being made fun of. She’s quite sure no one has been allowed to refer to Janai as princess since the moment a sword was put in her hands.

Amaya closes her book and gathers the papers, wondering what it is she is supposed to write. Of course, Janai would make her go first.

 _You must know that I love you_. That is the first thing to pop into her head. She can’t write that, it isn’t even true. They don’t know each other well enough, love is a deeper thing to her, but the word still pours into her head anyway. But it isn’t as poetic to say ‘I could love you, I am falling already, it would not take me long’.  
  


> **Why do I have to go first?**

  
She writes it, then passes the paper to Janai with an infuriating smirk plastered to her face.

Janai reads it, and has to visibly restrain herself from throwing the papers again. She shakes her head with a smirk of her own, comes to stand right next to the bed, and then sits at the edge, pulling her legs up with a turn of her hips. She scoots backward, until a pillow is supporting her back, and then takes the book and paper and pen from her.

Amaya has just enough time to frantically process the fact that Janai is _in the bed next to her_ when the paper is passed back.  
  


> _Being Queen has to have some sort of benefit.  
> _

  
She does laugh a little at that, grinning and nudging Janai with her shoulder. Then she leans back herself as she decides what she truly means to say. All the times she’s been frustrated and unable to communicate, what is underneath it? What is the most important thing? The truth, she supposes.  
  


> **I don’t think I’ve been particularly subtle, about how I feel. You are the most impressive, captivating woman I’ve ever met. Just seeing you makes me feel like my chest is being cracked open. But, and I hope you will allow for the understatement, our timing is not what anyone would consider ideal.  
> **

  
Amaya’s heart pounds with nerves. Her hands have the faintest tremor. The confession feels raw, even though what she has written is obvious. Writing it is a little better than trying to talk, it would be terrible to try and lip read while she feels like this. She wishes she could sign, though the absence of Kazi (or even the ever faithful Gren) is a blessed relief.

She hands over the paper. She very carefully does not watch for Janai’s reaction. Every moment that passes seems to take an eternity as she waits.  
  


> _Not ideal? Could it be that our people were close to war this time last week, that my sister was just murdered, that you are still technically forbidden in my homeland, or that my life will soon be consumed by the duties of Queenship? I find that, for my own part, I do not care. I dearly like you. I am aware that it will be difficult. But the crown will consume everything else in my life, I refuse to let it take this as well. Something must be my own. I cannot choose for you, of course. I would understand if this was not what you wanted._

  
Amaya’s hands will not steady where she holds the parchment. She couldn’t name the last time she has felt so overwhelmed. It’s too much, too many emotions, too much sensation. Janai wants her, wants her enough to fight for it. But oh, how can she help but doubt her? Darling wonderous Janai, who flings herself into battle headfirst and considers punching her opponents into submission a backup plan.

There is simply no way a human warrior would be considered an acceptable partner for the new Sunfire Queen. She has seen enough prejudice in her life to know the reaction will not be kind, no matter that the elves are not her own people. This experience has taught her that elves are more similar than different; they will be no different in this.

Yet, they are not her countrymen. She must respect Janai enough to ask.

She sets pen to paper again, holding the book carefully underneath.  
  


> **Callum will have a hard time of it in Katolis, and he is not first in line for the throne. You’re a new Queen, you’ll need support from all sorts of established functionaries. Some will be old and stubborn. I am not an acceptable choice, to them. I don’t wish to cause unrest, or make your job more difficult.**

  
She can’t help looking this time, as she hands over the paper and Janai reads. She does seem to take the concern seriously, mouth slipping into a pensive frown as she writes her reply.  
  


> _In normal times, you would be right. There are many who would shout for my removal, or line up to support some aggravating nobleman to undermine me. There is too much danger, now. There is an hourglass draining above the head who wears the crown, and none but the most avaricious would try to claim it. They don’t dare. If we win, my right is proven, and yours alongside me. If we fail, I’ll be dead._

  
Well, that is… very blunt and surprisingly insightful. Janai is a general through and through; she is most apt with politics when it most resembles a battlefield. Her read of the situation is better than her own, in this case. Amaya is tickled by the sensation of having met her match, once again. It’s always during surprising moments. They are so different, in so many ways, and it has been easier to relate based on similarity. She has overlooked the positive contributions their differences will make, and how it will lead them to complement one another. There is merit to it, to making an account of the problems and charging in anyway.

Her intellect is convinced. And yet, the doubt crawling underneath her skin is undeterred. Her fear is still scrawling ‘Janai will regret you’ over and over on the pages.

She knows what that is about. She wishes she didn’t. She doesn’t want to bring this up, and knows she has to. Her jaw clenches against the necessity, and a knot gathers in her throat.  
  


> **I will take whatever you can give. I will die by your side, gladly, to protect this world. I have my own responsibilities, but the stakes are much higher for you, and so the choice must be yours. I don’t want to make you feel any sense of obligation. If I were only human that would be one thing, but I’m different even besides that. Just to communicate with me requires the learning of a language. People with far lesser burdens than you found they could not handle for a year what was pleasant for a week, or a month. They begin to feel the lack.**

  
She has to grit her teeth against the words, how the word ‘burden’ is bleeding inside her chest. It isn’t true, she knows it isn’t. It’s nothing but an old insecurity, one that nags at her still. But she cannot ignore it, can’t pretend a relationship with her is the same as one with anyone else. It matters, that she must be followed around by interpreters. It matters that they have to trade notes back and forth, rather than have a simple conversation.

Amaya has thought before that feelings would be enough, that love would be enough. The novelty wears off, infatuation dies. The relationship becomes too much trouble. There is a specific point things reach (she knows it well), when her partner stops bothering to sign, and lessons come further and further apart. They avoid her until she ends it. Or they do it themselves, making elaborate excuses and colorless apologies. Laziness or carelessness, either way the fault doesn't belong to her. Still, she has always taken failure hard. 

She stopped being surprised years ago. After Sarai, she gave up.

Her eyes burn as she passes the paper. She feels herself scowling against the weight of it as she waits. She does not look, and the response takes a long while.

When it finally comes, she takes the paper back without breathing.  
  


> _I can understand intellectually that such a thing is true, that this is a way others have felt. For myself, I cannot imagine it. I must admit that ever since we first met, I have felt a step behind you. I could see all the ways you had exceeded me, as a warrior, as a general, as a person. Gifts I received for being born, you built with your own hands. I have never admired a person more. I know that life can be cruel, that things happen we cannot control, but there is no partner, no queen I wish to be more than the one I would be with you. If you listed a dozen more problems, filled the whole page with dangers, you would not change my mind. I truly cannot imagine finding you lacking, not for anything. Every time you ask me, I would choose you still._

  
The pages shake in her hands and the edges crease where her thumbs dig in, but she can’t get her fingers to relax. Her breath comes choppy and short through her nose. When she gets to the end, she starts over.

She reads it again.

Her mind is a blank ruin, a shirt turned inside out.

There is only one way to respond to a thing like that. She turns, seizes Janai by the shoulders, and kisses her.

So much for control. So much for her normal care, intricate and measured. This kiss is a desperate, aching thing, pouring out of her like a dam broken during monsoon rains. It isn’t even a comfortable position, both of them twisting to reach, but neither care. Janai just tugs her closer, weaves a hand into the hair at the back of her neck, and presses in. Amaya pulls a leg up underneath herself to help the angle, and notices distantly that the book and papers have slid off her lap and over the edge of the bed, splaying messily on the floor.

The sensation is utterly consuming, lips slanted together, just a hint of teeth and tongue. She pulls back to open her eyes, just long enough to check that Janai is okay, that she wants it, that it’s alright to keep going.

Janai blinks at her, confused and wanting, before she reads the question on her face. She’s flushed, panting hard, so beautiful Amaya can hardly believe she’s allowed to touch her. Her nod is sharp, an inpatient shake chased by a darting kiss. Amaya keeps the kisses shallow and short as she works her other hand up Janai’s lean, sleek neck, exploring her jawline where those golden facial markings end. A birthmark? A tattoo?

Her thought is cut short when a shuddering, full body exhale jars Janai from a kiss. She worries a moment, hoping her long hair hasn’t caught on something, and realizes it was _her_ , that her fingers had brushed the underside of a slim, elven ear. They must be very sensitive.

Amaya repeats the motion cautiously, dragging her fingertips under an earlobe and along the shell of the ear, gentle but intent. She is rewarded with what’s unmistakably a rough, open mouthed cry. This is her new life purpose, she decides — to drive this woman out of her mind. Her restraint frays, and she hauls herself up to sling a leg over, so her thighs bracket Janai’s hips. She uses her new height advantage to peer down with heady, smoldering intent.

Janai has intent of her own. Clever dark fingers slip underneath her tunic to stroke her lower back, with just the suggestion of fingernails. Everything is heightened. The skin tingles as her heart hammers, and the sensation has her arching under slender elven fingers. Their clothes are still on, she shouldn’t feel like this, so overcome. She bends down to trail open-mouthed kisses up the side of Janai’s neck, tracing muscle and tendon.

The action meets with firm approval, given how Janai’s nails dig into her back, but her forearms run out of space under the well cut tunic as she wraps her arms more thoroughly around Amaya’s torso. She pulls back, frustrated, a little shaky and unfocused, feeling for the clasps hidden by the placket of her shirt. The sensation of Janai’s hands on her bare stomach is an unbearable delight, she is left gasping against the neck she had been kissing, useless and stunned.

The brief reprieve gives Janai the chance to find the buttons, fumbling with the hole inside the lining, then just tugging till the smooth finished wood slides free. She goes right on to the next, moving up the shirt, as Amaya watches wide-eyed. Her mind gets stuck on it, at the sight of Janai undressing her, stopping sometimes to smooth a hand against the planes of her ribs, her torso.

Janai pushes the fabric past her shoulders, and Amaya leans back to pull it the rest of the way off and toss it to the floor. Underneath is nothing except a plain, well fitted camisole. It’s still fresh and wondrous and shocking, that Janai _looks_ at her that way — like she’s the most gorgeous woman alive, enticing beyond all others, chosen first and last, her, _her_.

Before she can process the impulse, her hands have darted down to the hem of Janai’s shirt. She pulls up on it, tugs it over Janai’s head, struggling as the looser, long sleeved robe gets caught. She should have taken the outer part off first, but she’s past coherent thought, past caring. She adjusts her grip and hefts it the rest of the way off, Janai’s hair spilling out like a radiant bundle of flame. She’s so lovely Amaya can barely stand it, bending to kiss her again and again and again.

This time though, her hands get to grasp, hungry and unsatisfied, at strong shoulders and the dips of an elegant spine, at the curve of her ribs and the divots set in her lower back. Her only impediment is a light, airy chemise that shifts easily at the slightest nudge. She thinks to remove it, but the texture is so silky the sensation of it against skin must be something lovely. There are better uses for it.

Much better uses, for instance: running her hand up Janai’s stomach, catching the fabric as she goes, and palming one of her enticing, generous breasts. She squeezes, rubbing lightly, and earns a gasping, yelled vocalization of some sort. She assumes it is an expletive.

She likes expletives in any context, but especially in this particular context. She does it again.

She watches carefully, the sight of the open-mouthed, wordless cry she wrings from Janai a reward all its own. Her chest heaves, and a thunderous look comes into her eyes that has no more tolerance for teasing or games. Janai fists a hand in the hair at the back of her head and pushes down — a firm, unambiguous request.

Amaya considers herself a generous woman, especially in this. And besides, who would argue with having their nose jammed between what is quite possibly the finest rack she has ever personally observed? Not her, that’s for sure. She replaces her hand with her mouth, tonguing wetly against the fabric as Janai writhes and pulls her tighter, closer. She catches the pointed suggestion of a nipple between her teeth, not biting down but scraping the fabric against sensitive skin with a bit more force, alternating with tongue until Janai’s hand clenches so hard in her hair it is just shy of pain.

She’s into it, she discovers. Her hips, already burning and heavy, grind down with a needy snap but without finding purchase. The position isn’t right for it, it does nothing to dispel the build-up of restless, churning energy.

Janai tugs at her hair again, this time towards her other, now sadly neglected left boob. Amaya acquiesces with such a vibrant spark of joy she almost laughs into her cleavage.

It’s an indescribable delight to realize Janai is just as pushy and impatient a lover as she is a person, to be present so wholly inside the fact that she is with Janai, lovely and strong; Janai, stubborn and honest and vibrant. Receiving clear direction is a nice change, as well. Since her sister became Queen, and even just as a General, partners have been a little intimidated by her. They are nervous to interrupt, or shy about what they want. And before, they treated her delicately, as if her lack of hearing somehow meant she required special, padded care.

She has seldom been… bossed.

As her lips work at their new, delicious task, she sets a hand behind Janai’s hip and presses inwards, pushing down with her shoulders until Janai drops down flat against the bed. She lowers herself with a groan of delight, settling her own hips between warm, regrettably clothed thighs. Not a second passes before Janai is hooking a leg over hers and grinding up roughly.

She raises up on her forearms, solely for the pleasure of seeing Janai looking just as desperate and wild as she imagined. Her face has somehow gotten redder, obvious despite her dark skin, and her chest heaves trying to catch up with something that can’t be kept hold of. Every particle of her radiates _want_ , when their eyes meet the plea in them takes Amaya’s breath away.

She has no patience left, all at once. She will have that woman — take her with rigorous completion until they are both good and satisfied.

Amaya doesn’t even bother to take Janai’s pants off. She swings a leg over to straddle one thigh, leans down for a kiss, and snakes a hand beneath the waistband of her trousers. She focuses on the kiss at first, a long, languid press; Janai protests by bucking up against her cupped palm and nipping at her lower lip.

She presses down with her hand, just lightly. Even that pressure has Janai gasping into the kiss.

Gods, she truly is hungry for it. For her.

Her fingers creep further down, traveling scant centimeters before losing purchase against the slick mess Janai has made of her underwear. Amaya is stunned at the heat that travels through her own shoulders and back at the feel of it. Gods _godsgods_ , Janai is impossibly wet. She circles her clit, fingers drawing a broad circle without finding enough friction. She drags around again, gaining a little purchase as the woman under her arches and shivers.

She wants to watch her. Amaya pulls back from the stuttering kiss, looking down at Janai’s heaving chest and blown pupils. She lets her fingers dig in a little, applying more pressure.

Janai tries to tug her back in with the arm around her waist and hand buried her hair, and she leans down for a succession of short, heartfelt kisses as she works with her hand. She strokes up and down, draws tighter and tighter circles until Janai is tugging at her hair, crying out and shaking with her eyes closed tight.

It isn’t long before she collapses down, the tension seeping from her shoulders, still panting harshly.

Amaya knows she is not even halfway done with her.

When Janai’s eyes open her expression goes alarmed, almost embarrassed, before Amaya pulls her into a smiling, delighted kiss. If this beautiful woman thinks she would consider someone coming in less than five minutes of actual stimulation anything but a compliment she is sadly mistaken. There will time for teasing and slow later.

Not now, though. Amaya pulls her hand out, but only so she can use both to tug at the waistband of Janai’s pants. She obliges, lifting her hips, and the clinging trousers get pulled down and tossed to the floor, her underwear with them. Then, to be thorough, she lifts the chemise up and over her head.

There. Clothes gone, at last.

She stares, awestruck, heart beating fast, still a bit unable to believe this is really happening. The sight of Janai, creamy dark skin set against the gold and ivory of the comforter, the contrast of curvy hips and muscular thighs, constrained power bundled with femininity of mouth watering loveliness; Amaya is overcome.

This woman, _hers_ , for tonight, maybe for more than tonight. Maybe longer, maybe for a long time, maybe until she dies a foolish, lucky old woman.

Janai takes advantage of her distraction to pull up on her camisole, trapping her head inside as it gets caught at her arms. Amaya sputters, blind, struggling to pull it the rest of the way off, as deft fingers attack the button of her trousers.

By the time she frees herself, Janai is wearing a bright, smug grin and is well into tugging her pants down. She wiggles and kicks out to help and manages to get one leg clear. Before she has the chance to pull the other free, Janai draws her shoulders down to guide her into a messy, insistent kiss.

She collapses with a guttural sigh, devouring the warm sensation of skin on skin, stomach and chest pressed together. They both spend time just letting their hands wander, lingering on generous handfuls of hip and back, squeezing at shoulders. Amaya feels a moment of self-consciousness as Janai traces the scars that mar her back and ribs, relics of her early years a fighter when she had been less skilled at detecting the enemies behind her.

Janai doesn’t pay them any mind, though, other than to trace them with languid curiosity.

Amaya wishes Janai knew a little sign (perhaps one day), for she wants to give her many silly, effusive compliments.

Instead she cups Janai’s jaw with both hands and looks at her, wearing the most adoring expression she can muster. She doesn’t move, doesn’t kiss her, just stares and smiles her softest, brightest grin.

It trips Janai up somehow; the cheeks under her palms go a little red. She tries to look away, but her head is held in place. Then she seems to get embarrassed about being embarrassed, huffing and closing her eyes.

Amaya laughs and smiles wider. The poor woman is far too unused to over the top, unashamed affection, and that is a situation that won’t be allowed to continue. She kisses the tip of her nose, startling her eyes open, before continuing across an elegant cheekbone, tracing bold golden lines.

In reply, Janai grabs her butt.

She laughs again, huffing into the arch of neck she’d been kissing. Janai’s hands roam lower, down the sides of her thighs and back up — some sort of attempt to turn the tables, she expects. Amaya isn’t sure she’ll go along with that just yet, no matter how bad she wants it (and she does, she _does_ ). She’s feeling almost, dare she say it, competitive? She doesn’t intend for Janai to have the chance to take the lead. A ludicrous thought, but then, they did meet by trying to kill each other during an ambush.

She pushes herself up on her arms and scoots downward, taking a moment to observe Janai’s annoyed expression and plant open-mouthed kisses down her chest and stomach. She seems to consider grabbing her again to redirect her, but loses track of the idea when Amaya runs her tongue along the inside of a curvy, firm thigh.

Amaya jams her arms under Janai’s legs to spread her further apart, continuing a teasing, wet series of kisses traveling tantalizingly inward.

One of Janai’s arms does flail down, but apparently it’s old mission has been discarded. It has a new goal: to land in Amaya’s hair and tug with the clear message that she should get to work.

Amaya almost laughs again. She teases for another minute, to prove a point, then acquiesces and settles more firmly between Janai’s legs.

She starts slow, a few soft, long strokes of the tongue. As she goes, one of her arms wiggles out to lay a hand against Janai’s side. Since she can’t see from this position, or hear, feeling how a woman breathes, how they tense and relax, is the best way to figure out how to adjust what she’s doing.

She dips down, nosing into the mess between Janai’s legs, running her tongue up and down. Tracking when her breathing stutters, she increases the pressure, pushing in, reveling as the hand in her hair tightens and Janai bucks.

Then she fastens her lips around Janai’s clit, avoiding direct stimulation, tantalizing with the edges of her tongue. Her fingers jar sideways trying to track desperate inhalation, she moves the hand down to an easier hold at the curve of a hip.

She makes a small, tight circle and her fingertips take in the reply, a fierce clench of stomach muscles. Amaya moves away, then back in. She teases, until Janai is writhing beneath her, desperate and unable to keep still. Her other hand has fallen aside to fist in the bedsheets, twisting and pulling, her thighs tremble; Amaya will never tire of seeing her like this, never.

Her jaw and tongue have started to burn a little, or she would keep going. It would be too cruel though, if she pushed and got too tired to finish her without needing to stop. She’s gotten out of practice.

Amaya takes a long breath, then redoubles her efforts, flicking and soothing with her tongue until Janai is coming apart around her, collapsing into heaving, shuddering relief.

She sits up, rubbing her hands up and down Janai’s thighs, cleaning her face, breathing a bit heavily herself and watching as the beautiful elf comes back to herself.

It takes a long minute. Brown eyes blink blearily, and she uses a shaky hand to wipe at her forehead. Her mouth hangs open, as if she would speak, but nothing comes of it. When she’s calmer, she reaches up.

Amaya dips down, so Janai’s arms can wrap around her shoulders. She expects to be pulled into a kiss.

Janai turns partway onto her side, then swings her outer leg over to trap Amaya’s foot. The realization of what’s happening comes a second too late, her knee is already hooked when Janai rocks back to her other side with explosive force, twisting with her torso to roll Amaya onto her back.

Amaya’s head hits the pillow with considerable force; the breath is knocked out of her for a moment.

Otherwise, she would have laughed at the crowing, delighted smile on Janai’s face.

The sight is truly something, Janai’s bare chest heaving with exertion, legs spread and seated on her own thighs. Her hair has partially escaped it’s clasp, hanging wild down her back with some spilling out onto her shoulders. She looks smug and regal all at once. It hits her that she is having sex with elven royalty, an intrusive thought she can’t help but be amused by.

A year ago the idea would’ve been absurd, unimaginable. A month ago, even. She has a flash of regret for her past hatred, something that seems beyond foolish now. If they had only known each other. How much pain, on both sides, could have been avoided if they had known? But then, if it were different this might not have happened at all.

As they sit and look at each other, Janai’s triumph fades into a hesitant, fretting sort of expression.

It only takes a moment for Amaya to understand: here, she’d normally ask what sorts of things her partner prefers, but there’s no way to talk.

She realizes something else, too. Janai must err on the side of caution, of course she must, a person in such a high position could easily assume a consent that is not heartfelt. It must have been very different for her, far harder to take a casual partner. Her chest aches at the thought of Janai lonely, acting with such tender care for others. She has such a good heart.

Amaya will make it easy for her. She takes Janai’s hand where it hangs at her side and brings it to her lips for a gentle kiss. She nods at her, sharp and sure.

Janai’s face goes soft and smiling again, and warmth blooms in her own chest at it.

What Janai does hardly matters. She’s so keyed up she’ll get off in half a minute, almost regardless of the method.

She leans down, almost for a kiss, but then just to place her hands against Amaya’s shoulders. It feels different, being underneath, letting Janai touch her. Her hands roam, exploring, and the gentle friction makes her skin buzz pleasantly.

Janai plants kisses along a scar against her ribs, a deep biting slash that angled differently would certainly have killed her. The feel of those lips makes her heart skip clear into her throat. The hands continue smoothing downwards, Janai’s torso bent enough for some of her hair to tip over her shoulder and drag against Amaya’s chest.

The sensation of _that_ shakes a gasping, cut-off moan from her.

Janai looks up at her, wide-eyed, but obviously enthused.

Some people don’t expect she makes noises, but of course talking has nothing to do with, well, other sorts of sounds. She can’t hear them though, so they can be strange. A lover or two in the past hadn’t liked them, she’d gotten in the habit of trying to stay quieter; had started to feel a little odd and ashamed. She’d realized, as the relationships took their course, the women had been assholes, not the sort that should be listened too. But the damage had been done.

It’s obvious Janai is not of that mold, but she finds herself a little anxious regardless.

Janai can tell something isn’t quite right though, from her face. Amaya clears the expression and nods again. It’s an old hurt, and there’s no way to discuss it at the moment anyhow.

An owlish, inquisitive look gives way to something resolute as Janai grabs one of her hands and tightly entwines their fingers.

She squeezes back, touched and more than half in love already. It’s amazing that this sweet woman is the same one who regularly ignites with rage to fling herself at opponents in battle. She tugs down on the hand, and Janai follows it in for a lingering kiss. She lets it turn heated quickly, hoping to convey the message _please please get me off_.

Janai obliges with a smirk, pulling back to run a hand down her body and between her legs.

Finally, god, please, are the thoughts running through her head, even the light touch sparking every nerve ending.

She spreads her legs further, swallowing as her head tips back. _Fuck_.

Janai is in no rush, letting her fingers travel with uneven pace and pressure, just enough to drive her half crazy. Her back arches, her hips shifting down trying to find more stimulation. Those maddening fingers dip down and then stall, hinting at penetration but prodding gently instead. Amaya is aflame, so desperate that any other thought in her head is wiped out except the desire to have something inside.

Her breath hisses out through her teeth as she tries to hold herself still.

When Janai finally pushes a finger in, it is relief and lightning bolt all at once. She lets out some sort of choked, keening noise she’s sure is ghastly. It still isn’t enough, she needs faster and more and moving.

If she hadn’t known how wet she was, Janai pulling out and immediately adding another finger would have told her. She’s scrabbling at the bedsheets herself, heel dragging against the comforter as she grabs fistfulls of soft fabric. Her breath is coming fast and hard, if her hands weren’t otherwise occupied she might have signed ‘please’ before she could stop herself.

Janai starts slow and deliberate. Her fingers move deep and thoroughly, as if they have all the time in the world. Normally that would be quite tantalizing, would work her up to a fine state and hold her there. She is on the brink already though, too aroused from everything else.

She’s coming as soon as Janai picks up her pace, clenching hard around her fingers and gasping and shuddering.

It isn’t close to enough.

Janai looks nicely self satisfied as she recovers, but a little unsure how to proceed. When she goes to pull out her fingers, Amaya’s hand darts over to grab her wrist.

She tries to use her eyes in communicating the very important message: more, please.

Janai gives her another minute to let the previous orgasm fade, then very kindly obliges her.

She goes back to her previous, deliberate rhythm with a deft twist of her fingers. This time there is a pleasant burn. It’s good, it’s all good, in no time at all she is aching and unsatisfied again.

Her legs shake a little as Janai picks up speed. It’s still methodical, but not slow any longer, Amaya finds herself rocking down against the fingers, scrambling for more. Her own face is red with exertion and heightened emotion, any control she had is gone.

She is reduced to cut off, formless gasps when Janai begins fucking her in earnest. She plunges her fingers in, hard, over and over. The angle is good though, and offers no discomfort to distract from the heady, consuming sensation. The look on Janai’s face is fierce and wild, a wholly different and incomparable loveliness. Amaya likes to have a woman, but there’s something wonderful to be said for _being had_ , especially by a woman like _this_.

Hot, weighty energy is curling between her hips, she can feel herself close to the edge again as Janai speeds up, fast enough it’s on the brink of roughness. It’s so much, all consuming, when she comes it is like being pitched off a cliff. Her whole lower body shakes with it, clenching hard as Janai slows down but doesn’t stop completely, drawing the pleasure out to a jolting, aching conclusion.

She is barely aware of herself as she drags Janai up her body and in for a desperate kiss. Her hand is still sticky, but no part of Amaya cares.

She’s still in shock, fulfilled and stirred to her soul, knowing that no matter what happens between them — this is the love of her life.  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://ladyptarmigan.tumblr.com/)! Come talk to meeeee. Tell me if the sex scene was any good, I haven't written one since 2017 for supercorp lololol.  
> Also, has anyone played Control? The videogame. I just beat it and I neeeeed to talk about with someone!!!! The awesome weird science! The cool female main character! The nerdy butch scientist who assists her! I just didn't KNOW?!?!??!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been so long, omg I feel bad! I got caught mid move by coronavirus, and it really disrupted my plans. It took me a long time to get back to reading and writing, and the last chapter of this fic still isn't done. I wanted to get my rough draft finished before I got back to posting, but I had to give that up since this chapter has already been MIA for so long. Sorry, and welcome back!!!!

She’s woken by the shadows cast as Janai moves around the room, gathering up her clothes and dressing backlit by the still-rising sun. She could get up, greet Janai, prepare for the day ahead. Instead, Amaya sighs and closes her eyes. She refuses to give up the warm, languid peace of waking up in this bed. Of waking up in this moment. It’s something to be cherished; she will want to remember. 

Then again, she doesn't know when they will see each other next. They've both been so busy. She almost changes her mind, if only to see Janai before she goes. Just as she’s deciding, she feels the mattress dip a few inches from her shoulder and near the edge of the bed. Curiosity gets the better of her, she keeps her eyes closed and holds still.

Somehow, she doesn’t expect it when Janai leans down to kiss her forehead. Softly, over her hair, obviously trying not to wake her.

It’s an impossibly sweet thing.

An agonizingly sweet thing.

Her heart flops over in her chest, a twisting ache that makes her almost nauseous. What is going to happen? To her, to Janai, to them? Any direction she turns is full of heartbreak. How can she bear to be apart from her? To see her just a handful of days a year?

And not just that.

She wants to talk to her sister. She wants to talk to _Sarai_.

She wants _her sister back_. It seems impossible that she can’t run to her and spill it all, the full story of how her foolish feelings have run away from her, an embarrassing gush of every detail. To go from a prisoner to the most honored of guests, to have experienced so much emotion and change in so short a time. Viren’s betrayal. Janai’s kindness and understanding. The battle, the Dragon Prince, how different elves are from what she thought.

How can it be, that she has stumbled into a relationship with elven royalty and her sister cannot laugh at her about it? Sarai would complain about being one-upped, she just knows it.

She would be able to figure out what to do, if she could talk it over with Sarai.

Once Janai has gone Amaya stands, feeling shaky. She won’t be able to get back to sleep like this anyway.

_Go talk to Gren_ , she tells herself. You need to speak to someone.

She gets dressed in a hurry, collecting the crumpled, wildly strewn clothing with another pang of longing. As she looks for her shoes, she sees where the papers scattered to, half under the nightstand and half on the carpet beside the bed. Gathering them into a neat pile, she pages through until she finds the one they wrote on. The words mean just as much in the morning as they did the night before, Janai’s flowing script mixed with her own blocky, utilitarian writing.

She folds the paper carefully, and puts it in her pocket.

* * *

By the time she gets to Gren’s room, she is panicked enough not to feel guilty for waking him. She pounds on the door until it opens.

Gren is confused and alarmed, still in his sleep shirt. His hair is a mess, sticking all up on one side. It isn’t the first time she’s pulled him from a dead sleep due to military necessity, or while caught up in a mad burst of inspiration. He moves aside promptly so she can come in, rubbing his eyes.

She rushes to the nearest seating, a small but functional ladderback chair, and collapses into it without preamble.

_“What am I gonna do?”_ she signs sloppily, glad to fall back into the less regimented sign she can use with people who know her well.

_“I don’t know what to… I’m so fucked.”_ She changes directions mid sentence, then gives up, burying her head in her hands.

Gren flounders for a moment with his hands, then hugs her instead. He just grabs her, a firm two armed clasp she sinks into with relief. He rubs her back and squeezes her tight. It is warm and grounding, and her breathing slows as she lets herself absorb the comfort.

_“Hey,”_ he signs as he pulls back. _“You aren’t fucked, and you aren’t alone. Wait until your nephews get here, we can all talk this out together. Give us a chance to help.”_

She knows she’s worrying early, but can’t imagine a way that won’t leave vital things left behind. She tries to listen to him.

Amaya sighs hard.

“ _You already love her._ ” Gren signs, a statement rather than a question.

She doesn’t answer, just closes her eyes.

* * *

Callum, Ezran and the others are approaching Lux Aurea as she finishes breakfast.

A servant enters and informs them the royal party has been sighted, and that human soldiers and riders would arrive within the hour. Her and Gren make eye contact with the same feeling of eagerness, and they go racing for the gates side by side. They’re both anxious to see the boys, and to be reunited with the rest of the Standing Battalion.

They are stopped at the palace entrance, where they find Kazi pacing nervously and close to hyperventilating.

Amaya stops with a smile, catching Kazi by the shoulder. _“Relax. You’ll do fine. Everything about magic and Xadia is fascinating for them, they’d be happy just talking and seeing the city.”_

This improves Kazi’s pallor a fraction.

_“I’m sure there’s an honor guard to escort you, but we’ll come along if it would make you feel better. We can introduce you.”_

Beside her, Gren nods his agreement.

Kazi takes a deep breath, signing _“I would appreciate it.”_

She can’t imagine anything going wrong. Callum and Ezram will love any elf friendly enough to tell them things.

Well, she can imagine one thing.

_“I assume someone has told you, but just in case…”_ she pauses to look at Kazi. _“You have been informed, that King Ezran is eleven? And Queen Aanya is fourteen.”_ It’s a little shocking, better to be forewarned.

Their head shakes; Kazi’s face falls into an expression which she would indeed describe as ‘shock’. Apparently, they had not been informed.

Amaya very generously does not laugh.

* * *

Within a couple of minutes, they are joined by two rows of gleaming elven warriors who march beside them as they make their way to the edges of the city. Amaya enjoys the trip, the first time she hadn’t had the chance to look around. Lux Aurea is a beautiful city, even more so when ostentatious manors are replaced by normal shops and homes, which are built with a deliberate elegance all the more striking for being simple, and embedded within practical spaces.

As human soldiers come into view, Amaya almost folds double with relief. She is restrained only by the necessity of military decorum, which doesn’t hold back her repetitive internal chant: thank goodness they’re still safe.

Once Callum and Ezran are in sight, she darts out to scoop them up in her arms. She can feel them laughing as she holds them aloft and squeezes tighter.

Off to the side, Queen Aanya grins at them, a thin fraction of a gesture but unmistakable. Rayla, the moonshadow elf, also observes the scene from a distance though her expression is more inscrutable; some mixture of longing and anger, quickly shuttered.

Setting them back down, she turns to the elven party. Gren has come forward to stand at her side, ready to interpret.

_“I’m glad you all have arrived safely. I’d like you to meet my friend Kazi, they’ve been kind enough to interpret for me while in Lux Aurea. Queen Janai figured you would like a tour, and Kazi’s a scholar who is very knowledgeable about Xadia.”_

Callum and Ezran are genuinely delighted. Queen Aanya is giving her a side eyed look, she’s familiar enough with diplomatic procedure to know something has gone wrong if an academic is greeting a royal party. But she’s smiling again, chagrined but with no real offense underneath it. Amaya suspects that she’s so sick of dignitaries who strut and insult her with patronizing comments that even wild breaches of protocol are preferable.

Kazi steps forward and bows, only a little nervous. “Welcome to Lux Aurea. I’m very pleased to meet you, King Ezran. Queen Aanya. All of you.”

Ezran claps and jumps in the air. “Woo! Let’s go!”

To his side, Opeli looks at him with disapproving fondness.

“Alright,” Kazi replies, smiling. “General Amaya has told me to inform you that you can ask me any questions you like.”

“Really?” Callum says, leaning forward.

Even Queen Aanya gets a sparkle in her eyes at that.

Kazi nods, enthused by the curiosity.

They are chatting before they even make it down the road into the city.

Amaya has the feeling this will be a very long tour. A good one, though.

* * *

They don’t stumble into their meeting with Janai until half past lunch time, exhausted and with sore feet.

When they enter the most formal of the smaller audience rooms, Janai is sitting on a regal looking throne in the center of the dais. It isn’t as ornate as the main one many floors above, but it’s still a seat for a Queen. She stands as their party approaches, inclining her head in respect but without any other acknowledgement of station.

“Greetings to you all. I’m pleased to have you here,” she walks forward, stepping down from the raised platform. “King Ezran. Queen Aanya.”

They return the greeting with passable formality. Except Queen Aanya, of course; her poise and diplomacy are impeccable. Then they run through quick introductions of the other people present, the titles and roles of their advisors and other staff. Janai nods along with the litany, as if she has any hope of retaining such an avalanche of information.

“I’m sure you must be hungry,” Janai says, motioning to a servant standing off to the side. “I’ll have someone take you down for lunch in a moment, but first I would like to express my thanks.”

King Ezran and Queen Aanya look surprised and a hair bashful. Their older advisors look surprised and a hair suspicious.

“Neither of your nations had any obligation to assist us, and I am well aware that your intervention very likely saved my own life, the lives of many Lux Aureans, and that of the Dragon Queen. It’s a debt I have no intention of forgetting.” Queen Janai looks at the Duren and Katolin parties in turn as she speaks, but finishes by staring squarely at Amaya.

* * *

They have lunch. She discovers she was correct in suspecting the smaller, oblong table was typically reserved for high ranking individuals and the most important meetings.

Ezran’s enthusiasm rather defeats the somber, formal tone they might have been going for, given the spread of impressive, rich foods and the luxurious surroundings. He’s still wound up from the fun he had with Kazi, and starts in on Janai almost as soon as he has eaten enough to recover his strength.

He asks about the food, including: what it’s called, what it’s made of, what Janai’s favorite is, and how they make it.

Janai grows more and more amused as the conversation goes on, until her smile is wide and toothy. The sight of it, of them so plainly enjoying each other’s company, is a gift she cannot put value to.

Janai asks him, as a joke, if he would like to meet the kitchen staff to ask more questions.

Ezran stands clear out of his chair to reply a resounding yes.

Callum is holding his head in a hand as they exchange exasperated, fond looks. At Callum’s side, Rayla is laughing and nudging him.

“Wait, so you captured Aunt Amaya, right?” Ezran asks around a bite of food. Everyone looks up, surprised. No one expected a serious round of questioning from the young King. “How did _that_ happen, I’ve never seen her lose a fight before.” Nevermind, not serious.

_“Oh, I didn’t lose.”_ She signs at him, raising her eyebrows with a grin.

“Don’t even start,” Janai replies, scowling, not needing to wait for an interpreter.

“Queen Janai, you know sign?” Callum asks, intrigued.

“No.” Janai scowls worse, blushing and looking away.

This attracts even more attention. Callum looks fully delighted. Aanya is glancing between the two of them with _far_ too suspicious a look on her face.

“She was on the Xadian side of the border when the breach was destroyed.” Janai tries to continue as if nothing happened.

Queen Aanya looks thoughtful, at this. “What happened wound up being very fortunate. Our army was already moving to investigate the explosion when King Ezran’s advisors informed us of Viren’s coup, it saved several days of travel.”

The statement makes her think of something. She elbows Gren, sitting to her right. _“The border. How did they cross? How did they get whole armies over it? Aanya must know.”_

Gren looks surprised, then intent. He repeats her questions to Queen Aanya.

“A section of lava was solidified, spanning several yards across. You could walk across safely. We assumed Viren did it.”

Janai, Gren, and her all exchange looks. To Callum’s side, Rayla also seems to realize the wider implications for all of Xadia. A real pass across the border, that would be an interesting complication. It would need guarded, at the least.

“I see. Well, I don’t intend to have any policy discussions while you’re all tired from traveling. We'll discuss it in depth tomorrow,” Janai says, nodding to both rulers.

* * *

Once lunch is over, the new guests are settled into rooms of varying size and affluence, and are given time to relax. The boys need it, no doubt. They just fought in a large-scale battle. Respecting the difficulty of this, Amaya tries to restrain herself, but only manages to kick her feet and read for two hours before she’s up and looking for them.

She checks Ezran’s room first, since it’s so close to her own, and gets lucky.

Callum, Rayla, Bait and Ezran are sprawled on top of the bed in a variety of poses, relaxing and chatting.

When she enters, they look up and wave her in with broad smiles. She is a little hesitant to interrupt their time with each other, they need the chance to decompress and be children. Or, what little can be salvaged of their childhood, anyhow. She wishes she could have given them better, but then they have done so well with what they’ve gotten. So well.

_“I’m glad you’re all safe.”_ She is surprised to find she deeply means it, even towards the elf Rayla. It’s still odd to think that she was never an enemy. It’s enough that Callum cares for her. She does, however, wish to know the full story.

Ezran nods, Bait sitting in his lap. “We’ve had some close calls, that’s for sure. We came through in the end, though!”

Bait rolls over onto his stomach while giving Ezran an exasperated look.

_“Would you mind telling me the story? It’s been so long since we’ve had time together.”_

Callum grins and sits up, patting the edge of the mattress. “Come sit. We’ll tell you the whole thing.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea! I haven’t gotten to hear about how you guys traveled through Xadia,” Ezran says, looking at Callum and Rayla.

“Alright. Let’s start from the beginning. Soooo… me pretending to be Ezran and almost getting assassinated?”

Rayla elbows him again. “Callum! You don’t have to put it like that,” she says, blushing and looking away.

* * *

“And so that’s how we accidentally found the egg of the Dragon Prince, learned magic, and traveled halfway across the continent.”

Amaya is still in shock. Her protective instincts are horrified.

Her proud auntie instincts are the opposite of horrified. She wants to pin a medal on every one of those kids.

Sarai would be so proud. They are everything she dreamed and more.

“Now it’s your turn, isn’t it Aunt Amaya?”

“Oh yeah!” Ezran says, excited. “I gotta know how you wound up friends with the Sunfire Elves.”

Jeez. She should have known that was coming.

* * *

It takes quite a while to escape from the enthusiastic questioning. She has a better poker face than Janai (not difficult), but still it’s hard to talk about what has happened without giving herself away.

She feels a bit bad, as if she’s acting like she has something to hide or something to be ashamed of. It isn’t that at all. It’s only that it feels a little too adult of a problem to lay on them, unfair in a way that’s hard to put her finger on.

She hadn’t lied. She’d told them Janai meant a great deal to her; they knew that was a serious statement, coming from her.

It was an omission, at worst.

Gren would disagree with her, probably. But she can’t seem to find him. She’s checked his room, the dining area, and the library already.

In Katolis the staff at the palace at least knew how to fingerspell, here she cannot even ask a servant where to find him. She decides to head for the area with the highest concentration of meeting rooms, hoping to find someone who can point her in the right direction.

She finds the man himself, coming out of one of the rooms.

Janai comes out behind him.

For a split second, she feels an utterly irrational spark of blazing hot upset. Like Gren and Janai are having some kind of secret _rendezvous_. Just the idea is absurd, she’s embarrassed to have thought it. Neither of them would ever, and she and Janai aren’t even… she shakes herself of the ridiculous thought.

Then, she feels even more suspicious. Since Janai and Gren are not, well, they aren’t doing anything untoward, what _are_ they doing?

Her instincts are prickling.

Gren spots her and races over with a smile, Janai trailing behind him trying to look serious and controlled.

_“Gren, I’ve been looking for you. The boys told me what has been going on the past few months.”_

_“I see. We’ll have a lot to discuss then. Later tonight?”_ he asks, then does a smirking double take. _“Not tonight, I guess. Tomorrow morning?”_

Janai sidles up behind him, watching them curiously. When Gren stops signing, she smiles.

“Amaya.” Janai’s face goes warm and pleased at saying her name, to see it always makes something ring deep in her chest.

_“Do you want me to stay and interpret? Or leave you two be?”_ Gren asks, waggling his eyebrows.

It’s a considerate question.

When both of them turn to her, Janai jars backwards then guesses the question before they have the chance to ask.

“I have another meeting soon. And I’ll be occupied until very late,” Janai pauses, looking unsure. “I’m not sure you would wish for me to…”

She does not finish the sentence, or Amaya misses something. Wouldn’t wish for her to what? Is she concerned it will be too late at night, that she wouldn’t wish to be distrubed? As if that could be a possibility. She would not care if Janai woke her in the middle of the night.

Amaya reaches for her, rubbing a thumb against the back of her hand and squeezing her palm. She smiles, an invitation that presumes nothing.

It seems like a waste, to be able to speak to Janai and not do it.

Then again, it’s another sort of pleasure to not need to. To simply be understood.

* * *

She takes a book to bed, and falls asleep reading it.

She wakes to Janai pulling the book out from under her chin with a gentle smile.

Amaya stretches, sighing, then works an arm out from under the covers and holds it out. Janai steps into it easily, leaning down for a chaste kiss.

She pulls back the bed sheets, scooching sideways to make room. Janai slides in with a stiff sort of tiredness. It’s too dark to see her face well, but she seems worn. It’s not a surprise, they had been up late the night before and the new monarch has been very busy since then.

Janai sidles up next to her and kisses her again, a more insistent press with a hint of tongue.

The woman has spirit. However, Amaya’s pride doesn’t allow for those sorts of activities with a woman who looks like her most fervent wish is to be asleep. She’d like it to be her pride, anyway, and not the beating muscle in her chest distributing fervent care from toes to fingertips as much as blood.

Amaya pulls away to kiss Janai’s forehead and then clambers half on top of her. She settles in the space between arm and shoulder, trying to make sure her jaw isn’t digging uncomfortably. Turning more on her side, she wraps an arm around Janai’s stomach to pull her even closer with a contented rumble.

Janai is tense for a moment, then relaxes into the arrangement. Her arm comes up to stroke Amaya’s back, even as her eyes are already starting to close.

To speed up the process, she employs a rather dirty trick. Bending her arm back in, she rubs her palm against Janai’s stomach in slow, calm circles.

It works in _minutes_.

In the darkness, she takes in the shape of her; tapering eyebrows and broad nose, elegant cheekbones leading down to a firm jaw and rounded chin, all of it relaxed at last into sleep. Her breathing is deep and steady through her nose. It makes something glow, transcendent and tender, in her chest. To have cared for this woman, to support and comfort her, is a feeling as good as sex. Better.

You can find a sliver of time to pull clothes aside and kiss and work a woman over almost whenever you put your mind to trying.

There is no substitute for knowing someone is well-rested and well thanks to you, no way to turn back the clock and get more sleep, or remember to catch a meal you thought to skip. It matters, to look at someone who is exhausted and wrung out and know you might have helped them instead.

Later, there will be time for them. She will believe it — she has to.

* * *

Janai wakes before her.

When she shakes herself free of sleep, it’s to the feeling of fingers combing through her hair. Long, deliberate strokes from her scalp to the tips of the longest sections, trailing along the side of her head. It’s a comforting, lovely sensation

She burrows in deeper, only half realizing she is digging into Janai’s side. Her head is jostled by the up and down movement as Janai laughs and wraps an arm around her shoulders. Amaya sits up a little and props herself up on the body below her with a lopsided grin.

Janai smiles back. “Good morning,” her mouth drapes and curves over the syllables.

She signs back the greeting, bringing a hand towards her chin. “ _Morning.”_

“That’s good morning, in sign?” Janai asks, head tilting.

Well, sort of. She doesn’t bother to sign the whole thing most times, using a more casual one handed version instead.

She shows Janai the proper form of _“Good morning”_ , chin to hand and then coming up over a straightened arm.

“The one before was a slang version?”

Amaya nods.

“I have a great deal to learn,” Janai says with a sigh, obviously referring to more than just sign language. “Kazi has agreed to provide lessons for me at the palace, though I’ll probably be too busy to start until after all this has been worked out, with the border.”

She looks almost apologetic, saying it. Amaya can hardly believe, with everything else going on, that Janai has found time to worry about sign language lessons. Not to mention feeling bad that she hasn’t started sooner. It’s a little different for a Queen, but it means a lot that Janai has taken the responsibility of learning on herself rather than expecting Amaya to do it all. And for her to worry about not doing so fast enough! Ridiculous.

She reaches up to take Janai’s silly fretting face between her palms and gives her a pointed look.

Janai rolls her eyes at her.

Amaya kisses her, feeling warm and happy. This is a very nice way to start the day.

The arm around her shoulders tightens, then releases her as Janai sits up further with a languid stretch. “We will need you for the meetings in the afternoon. So I won’t be the only one suffering today.”

She nods, she’d been expecting the border to become a topic. It seems like Janai has some sort of plan in mind, it’s obvious she doesn’t intend to go back to a strict no contact policy between Xadia and the human kingdoms. Perhaps she will set up a schedule of diplomatic visits?

“There is a great deal to be done this morning. Before that, though, would you like to take a bath?”

Wait. With her? Is Janai asking if she would like to take a bath, with her? A bath, with Janai?

Amaya nods again, head bobbing up and down like a toy on a string.

* * *

Janai leads her down the hallways hand in hand.

The baths they enter are not the ones she’s been using before this. Her surroundings are far more opulent. There’s an actual entryway, with stacks of towels and robes and a woven basket she expects is for dirty clothes. Then, sectioned off, a hallway widens out to a beautiful stepped pool.

These are the royal baths, for the royal family.

Should Janai even be bringing her here? The thought is facetious, she isn’t concerned with the edicts of tradition (that would be pointless, she’s sure). But something about it jars her, how Janai truly does not seem to care. On some level she must, there must be some doubts. Outwardly though, Janai is above it all.

She has slept in Amaya’s room rather than her own for two nights running. All the staff in the whole palace must know by now where their Queen is going. What their Queen is doing.

She feels ashamed all at once, for avoiding the truth with Callum and Ezran. The stakes for her are much lower, and she is the one trying to hide. Not out of malice or embarrassment, but still her fear has made a lesser woman of her. It doesn’t matter whether that fear was for the boys or for herself.

She resolves to do better, when Janai distracts her by starting to disrobe. Her pajamas are stripped and tossed to the ground as she wades into the heated water.

Amaya finds herself preoccupied by the sight of Janai’s bare back and beautiful, shapely ass but unfortunately also by the fact that she has left her clothing just laying around rather than putting them in the bin.

Swearing internally at her own pedantic nature, she picks up the pajamas, sticks her head back through the curtains into the front room, and tosses them into the clothes hamper. She strips as well, pulling down a robe and grabbing a second one for Janai. She hesitates over her own clothes, wondering: should these also go in the bin? It seems presumptuous. Then again, she has just noted that the palace staff already know what’s going on. Plus, they’ve been laundering her clothes anyway.

She folds her shirt and pants carefully and puts them on a shelf. A compromise.

When she turns back, Janai has already gotten herself seated on a tiled bench built out from the wall of the bath. Above, a narrow channel allows water to flow down into the pool. Wood is built into stone, creating a look that combines nature and structure. She uses it to wet her hair, rubbing something between her palms and rubbing it into her scalp.

Amaya wades into the water. The temperature is pleasantly hot, making her skin prickle. She ducks underwater to wet her hair before popping back up, shaking her head and swimming over to Janai.

She rests her elbows on Janai’s thighs, looking up at her with a cheeky smile. Boobs take up about forty-five percent of her vision, which is as it should be.

“If you are going to distract me, wait until I’m done with my hair,”Janai says as she rinses, peering down at her suspiciously.

Hm. As if she would ever do such a thing. She mimes a theatrically hurt expression, then runs her hands down Janai’s sides to clasp the curve of her partially submerged hips. She will politely refrain from moving lower, out of courtesy. She is a very courteous woman.

Janai lets the water run over her scalp, closing her eyes with pleasure. Her hands drop down to Amaya’s shoulders, roaming, enjoying the slick texture of water playing against the solid muscles of her back and arms. The sensation is heavenly, warm and smooth.

She finds it quite unfair. A real double standard. She lets her hands clench harder at Janai’s hips, massaging firmly, her thumbs pressing in.

Janai’s breathing stutters. Amaya really hopes she’s almost done cleaning her hair. Her thumbs press and circle again inside the curve of Janai’s hips, just a little lower.

For this action, she receives a laughing smile and a pair of raised eyebrows. She holds still. She waits.

Then, Janai nods.

Amaya seizes her by the waist, lifts up, then flings them both backwards to dunk Janai in the water.

When Janai emerges her eyes are blazing, her fists are clenched, she’s mad as a spitting cat. She’s just as beautiful angry as she is every other time, every other way.

She laughs, wiping her own drippy hair out from in front of her eyes. Her best, most adoring smile puts a crack in that stormy facade. Eventually, Janai seems to decide revenge is the best medicine. She swipes hard at the surface of the water, tossing out a wave high enough to splash Amaya in the face.

She laughs harder, darting forward as fast as a woman two thirds submerged in water can to try for a grab. One of her hands misses and the other slides off a slippery expanse of back as Janai turns and she loses purchase, the move successfully evaded. Underwater, her moment of imbalance is capitalized on as Janai tries to sweep her legs out from under her. It doesn’t work at first, the water blunting the momentum, but she puts her shoulder into the motion.

Amaya goes down. She plunges underwater face first, the force pushing her more sideways than downwards. She doesn’t fight it though, getting as low to the bottom of the pool as possible. It isn’t deep enough to disguise what she’s doing, so she tries to work fast. She pushes off from the bottom of the pool, wraps her arms around Janai’s thighs, and stands forcefully.

She hefts Janai up and out of the water, leaving her arms cartwheeling as she tips forward before they clamp down behind Amaya’s neck. The look on her face has softened; still a little exasperated, but won over enough to smile and sigh. It makes her sad to realize how unfamiliar with roughhousing and play she is, though it isn’t surprising; Khessa hadn’t seemed the sort for it. Being born royalty is just as much a curse as it is a blessing.

Their bodies are pressed close together like this, front to front, a sliding mess of skin right on the brink of more intimate contact.

Janai leans down to press their foreheads together, shaking her head and chuckling warmly.

Amaya raises her eyebrows, smirking.

“You have two choices. We can fool around more, or you can _get me off_ ,” Janai says, enunciating as clearly as possible.

_Well_ , Amaya laughs to herself. Not a difficult choice.

She takes a few teetering steps towards a submerged platform protruding from the wall of the pool and sets Janai down on it. The water is high enough to cover most of her legs but low enough to give her room to work.

Perfect.

Then, because messing with Janai is a delight, she dips into a mock bow and waggles her fingers at her forehead. _Your radiance_.

When she looks up, she has missed half an angry sentence. Janai’s mouth is moving, but all she can catch is “...don’t… kill you.” Filling in the blanks of an incensed death threat isn’t too difficult.

Spirits, Janai is fun.

She presses in between Janai’s legs, forcing them further apart, cradles her jaw in both hands, and kisses her. Open mouthed, wet and searching, the kiss goes intense scant moments after it starts. The air is heavy with humidity, almost a tangible blanket, making their breathing even more labored.

Amaya slides a hand further back to toy with one of Janai’s ears, then attaches her mouth to an enticing stretch of neck. It doesn’t take much pressure, not in either location, to have Janai scratching at her back again, pressing up with her hips. Because they have been tempting her, she dips down to kiss the curve of a breast, to circle a nipple with her tongue and flick until it seems like Janai can’t handle another moment.

She will have quite an assortment of scratches by the end of this, she thinks. Her back is wet enough that sometimes Janai’s fingers slide and her nails, though short, come out just far enough to dig. Amaya files this in with the other things Janai does that she is unexpectedly very, very into.

Turning a bit sideways, she makes room to fit a hand between Janai’s legs. The pose is enticing, Janai spread out before her on the bench, right at hip height. Damn, to fuck Janai with a strap on while she’s looking like this. That would be something. It’s too bad she hadn’t brought hers with her, not normally something she would need on hand during military capture and imprisonment but clearly that was just a lack of imagination on her part.

While she’s been standing there staring, Janai has been getting inpatient. The gold around her eyes crinkles with annoyance, a beautiful display of royal ire.

_“Something you want, princess?”_ she signs, knowing Janai can’t understand. Too bad. On the other hand, lucky. Janai would probably kill her straight dead if she knew. _Princess_. She’s going to keep calling her that until she figures out what it means.

Some of the meaning does get across, clearly sex can speak cliches across the language barrier.

Janai’s face goes even angrier in a wild, desperate sort of way. She snarls, but her mouth opens helplessly around a single word. Extremely short sentences without context are the most difficult things to lipread. Normally, it would be impossible to tell what that was.

In this particular instance, she has some clues. In this particular context, she thinks that word was _please._

“Please,” Janai says again, very helpfully repeating it.

It makes her heart stop dead in her chest. This is, bar none, the sexiest thing that has ever happened to her. She heaves all breath out of her lungs in a full body spasm, like being struck in the solar plexus.

Then she kisses Janai, hard. Fast and passionate, a burning thing; she presses closer (not that there was much room to begin with), works her hand down between them, and moves her fingers against slick, heated skin. Not in, just twisting her wrist as Janai bucks against her and nips at her lower lip.

Amaya adjusts herself, making sure that her hand has space and the angle will work. She pulls back just long enough to tug Janai forward, so she’s a little closer to the edge of the seat. Janai uses her moment of distraction to turn the kiss around on her, but that’s a fight she knows she’ll win soon enough.

She presses in a finger to the middle knuckle. The kiss stutters as Janai’s breathing goes rough, she pulls out just as she takes Janai’s lower lip between her own with a playful flick of her tongue. Amaya thrusts in again, shallow still, her other hand braced on a curving hipbone.

Janai slides forward another inch, letting her thighs fall further open. Her head tips back, and Amaya takes the invitation to nuzzle at her neck instead, interspersed with lazy open mouthed kisses. Gradually pushing deeper, Amaya starts to curl her finger upwards. She adds a finger.

She fucks Janai with unhurried enjoyment, letting her lips rest at Janai’s neck, feeling the tremors from her moans and cries against her skin.

Nothing hard or fast. Not until she is burying her fingers all the way to the base and Janai is scrabbling at her shoulders, hooking a leg to try and pull her closer. Then she speeds up, pushes hard enough that Janai jars just a little with the force of it.

Janai is gasping desperately into her hair, clenching around her fingers, coming apart soon after.

Amaya let’s her fingers linger, then eases them out when Janai taps her shoulders. She releases her and steps back, giving her a little space to recover, watching her face shift from lax relief into a pleased, smug smile.

_“Good morning,”_ she signs again, feeling a tad smug herself.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Janai murmurs back, her eyebrows going up. She stands and stretches, rolling her shoulders as her back arches.

She takes a few steps, then caresses Amaya’s hip with a wayward hand. “I’m late as it is, I’ll have to owe you one,” she says with a subdued smirk.

As if she cares about things like that. Especially when anticipation is half the fun. Amaya shakes her head with a laugh, then wraps her arms around Janai for a quick, clinging embrace.

Janai leans into it, their heads nestling close together. The warmth of their fronts pressed together, not charged anymore but fond and intimate, is a magical thing. She could spend a long time with Janai bundled up in her arms like this, a very long time. Not bored or tired, enjoying every second of it—of just being together.

Amaya releases her and steps back, cursing political necessity. They leave the bath with regretful sighs, and she grabs a robe as she passes.

Janai doesn’t bother. She ignites with magic, her skin going white hot with heat and the water evaporating off in curls of steam.

For a moment, Amaya is stunned.

Has Janai just used a mystical Sunfire elf ability to _dry her hair_? Her mouth opens with shock and her head tilts to the side.

Janai’s face goes a little red, but she scowls and shrugs, as if to say: so what?

Yes. It appears that she does, in fact, use magic to quick-dry herself.

_Oh, Janai_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](http://ladyptarmigan.tumblr.com/)! I hope all you darlings have been safe and well during these hard months.


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